


The Path to Paradise Begins in Hell

by erinyanko



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hannibal (TV) Fusion, Cannibalism, Character Death, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, I'm not kidding...characters die, Lotor is a cannibal and OH does he want Keith, M/M, Obsessive Behaviour, Psychological Horror, Slow Build, Violence, Violence elevated to art, but with more sexy time, if you've seen NBC Hannibal, then you know exactly how this goes down
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-06-15 12:19:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 36,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15412767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erinyanko/pseuds/erinyanko
Summary: "O Sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beamsThat bring to my remembrance from what state I fellHow glorious once above thy sphere" - John Milton, Paradise LostHead of the FBI Behavioral Science Unit, Agent Takashi "Shiro" Shirogane, calls on Special Agent FBI profiler, Keith Kogane to help investigate and profile an active serial killer in Minnesota. With the investigation weighing heavily on Keith, Shiro decides to have him supervised by Dr. Lotor Galran, a former medical surgeon turned psychiatrist. Initially, Lotor works to manipulate the FBI from within. However, the bond he builds with Keith begins to threaten his motives and longevity. Lotor is at first fascinated by Keith's unique ability to empathize with psychopathic murderers and as a result, tries to push the boundaries of Keith's fragile mind and sanity in order to turn him into a killer himself.A perfect companion for one of FBI's most wanted and elusive serial killer. Who is also a cannibal.





	1. APÉRITIF

****Arterial blood spray splashes against a wall near a carpet soaked in blood. Through the windows, a herd of officers surround the many police cars all flashing their lights. A crime scene photographer steps in front of the single man who looks out of place within the entire crime scene. He stands still as the coroners remove two bodies – Thomas and Theresa Marlow. Both your typical middle class middle-age married couple.

A tall, handsome man with a vacant focus. His eyes don’t respond to the flashing lights from the camera. He stands as if all the sounds surrounding him were dulled. Except for the low rhythmic beating of his own heart.

Keith Kogane, 33,  stands almost serenely among the carnage of the crime scene. Outside, a group of police officers herd crime scene photographers, detectives, and journalists. It’s not long before the officers inside the house usher the remaining photographer and coroners out the door leaving Keith completely alone.

Keith takes a deep breath and slowly closes his eyes as he exhales. He images a pendulum. Swinging in front of a pitch black darkness. It keeps in time with his heartbeat.

_Fwum_

_Fwum_

_Fwum_

He imagines the pendulum now outside his mind and in front of the carnage. As it swings, it wipes away all the evidence. The arterial spray on the wall, the blood stained carpet, the masses of police and reporters outside. By the last swing of the pendulum, all evidence that a crime took place was gone. A switch clicks in Keith’s mind as he opens his eyes to a decriminalized crime scene. He feeling himself walking backwards, through the front door that is opening behind him and across the lawn.

He is alone in the neighborhood.

The pendulum stops swinging and Keith watches the quiet house from across the empty street. He sees Theresa Marlow through the partially curtained windows and can make out the silhouette of Thomas Marlow. He waits until he sees Thomas Marlow get up and walk out of the room. Keith’s head cocks slightly to side as he observes their domesticity. The pit of his stomach burns and he feels his fingers curl into his palm. The nails dig hard, hard enough to draw blood. There’s a long moment before he begins walking up to the front door with purpose. He marches up and violently kicks in the front door. The home security alarm blares and Keith raises a towel-wrapped arm as Thomas Marlow rushes down the stairs.

By the time Thomas Marlow realizes, it’s too late.

Keith shoots him twice through the neck. Everything passes in slow motion.

The fired shots.

The entry and exit wounds.

The blood flying like soft flower petals.

It almost looks like art.

“I shoot Mr. Marlow twice, severing jugulars and cartoids with near surgical precision. He will watch me take what is his away from him." Keith takes a deeps slow breath. "This is my design.”

Keith cracks his neck before turning to see Theresa Marlow frantically pushing the panic code in the home security keypad. He doesn’t bother to watch Thomas Marlow fall down the stairs. He knows he won’t get up. Keith shoots Theresa expertly through the throat, missing her jugular. The arterial spray scatters over the keypad and wall as she drops to the floor.

“I shoot Mrs. Marlow expertly through the neck. This is not a fatal wound and the bullet misses every artery. She is paralyzed before the bullet leaves her body.”

Keith cocks his head to the side and smirks a little as he walks up to a paralyzed Theresa Marlow.

“…which doesn’t mean... she can’t feel pain,” Keith’s voice drops and at most whispers the last part,“...it just means she can’t do anything about it…This is my design.”

Keith finishes punching in the “off” alarm code and the blaring home security alarm is silenced. It’s only a couple seconds later before the home security alarm rings and Keith presses the answer button.

“This is ALT Security. Who am I speaking with?”

Keith blinks and he’s back in the carnage. His eyes swim for a moment as he finishes getting out of character and processing all the information. He turns to the nearest police officer he can find.

“I need the incident report from the Home Security Company.”

Another officer hands him a clipboard with a stapled packet of papers clipped to it as he steps over the crime scene as to not contaminate the evidence. Keith looks through the report and mumbles to himself.

“This was recorded as a false alarm?" He flips through the papers on the clipboard, scanning the writing at a fast speed. "There was another false alarm…last week.”

Keith lets the papers fall on top of each other on the clipboard as he hands the report back to the police officer.

“He tapped their phone.”

Keith takes a deep breath as he re-enters the crime. He sees Theresa Marlow on the floor bleeding out motionless.

“This is VLD Security. Who am I speaking with?”

Keith holds up his cellphone to the home security alarm receiver and presses the play button on his phone as he watches Theresa.

“Theresa Marlow.”

“Can you please confirm your password for security purposes, ma’am.”

Keith presses the play button again to continue the recording. He closes in eyes as he takes a deep breath. His whole demeanor changes as he gets a further glimpse at the killer’s thoughts and his plans.

“Tea kettle.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Marlow. We detected a front door alarm.”

Click

“Yes, that was me. Sorry about that.”

“Is there anyone in the house with you at the moment, Mrs. Marlow?”

Click

“Just me and my husband.”

“Do you need any further assistance at this time?”

Click

“No, thank you for calling. Again, sorry about the false alarm.”

Keith hangs up the call and looks sympathetically at Theresa Marlow continues to bleed out paralyzed.

“And this is where it gets _truly_ horrifying for Mrs. Marlow,” he whispers as he stares down at the body.

When Keith looks up he is no longer at the crime scene but in a lecture hall inside the Internal F.B.I. Academy in Quantico, Virginia. He takes off his glasses for a moment to wipe them clean with a glasses cleaner he keeps in his pocket before putting them back on and briefly scans the trainees in his classroom.

“Everyone has thought about killing someone…one way or another. Be it at your own hands or by the hand of God. Now _think_ about killing Mrs. Marlow.”

Keith clicks on a small clicker as a crime scene photograph of Theresa Marlow, dead on the floor, is projected on the screen behind him. He scans the lecture hall observing each trainee’s reaction but never making eye contact. He doesn’t look behind him to see the projection.

He doesn’t want to.

“Why did she deserve this?”

Keith’s eyes drop and catch on to a man he knows and had the unfortunate luck of meeting once. Takashi “Shiro” Shirogane. There’s something about Takashi Shirogane that Keith immediately doesn’t like (not to mention the embarrassing crush he had on him when he was trainee). Keith hadn’t decided whether it was his all-around alpha aura or him interrupting his class (or just the fact that he was unreasonably good looking).

“Tell me your design. Tell me who you are.”

Shiro watches as the trainees start filing out of the classroom. He can’t help but smirk as the scattered smitten glances tossed at Keith’s direction, who is naturally oblivious because he is actively avoiding eye contact with everyone. Even as he warns his exiting students, his eyes remain on the pages of homework he’s stacking together.

“Sadly, the dull truth of these crimes is that they can usually be reduced to a male penetrative control issue. I will be expecting high levels of scrutiny.”

Keith is a little agitated when he realizes that he isn’t alone in the lecture hall when the last of the trainees exits. He quickly readjusted his glasses as Shiro approaches. It was a small useful trick to prevent eye contact, adjusting his glasses so that the top rim would block out people’s eyes.

Keith was never good with eye contact. It always felt invasive and too much eye contact felt...intimate.

“I’m Special Agent Takashi Shirogane, leader of the Behavioral Science Unit.”

“We’ve met.” Keith replies trying to hold back his obvious distaste for the man.

“Yes, we had a disagreement about the museum when we opened it.”

“I disagreed with what you _named_ it,” Keith corrected as he puts the stack of homework in his over-the-shoulder leather satchel.

“The Evil Minds Research Museum?”

“It’s a little hammy, don’t you think Shiro?”

Shiro smirked at Keith’s directness and returns the favor. He also notices Keith’s persistence at looking everywhere in the room except him.

“I see you’ve hitched your horse to a teaching career. I understand it’s not easy for you to be sociable.”

“I’m just talking at them, not listening to them. It’s not called being sociable when it’s only a one way street.”

Shiro slowly leans forward and gently pushes back Keith’s glasses up the bridge of his nose. He knows very well as to the purpose of the glasses particular placement and smiles as he forces Keith to make brief eye contact.

“And where do you fall on the spectrum?”

Keith picks up on where Shiro wants to go with this conversation and immediately wants no part in it. He pulls the handle of his satchel over his right shoulder as a small hint of “I’d like to go home now, thank you very much.”

“My horse is hitched to a post closer to Asperger’s and Autistic than narcissists and sociopaths.”

“But you can _empathize_ with narcissists and sociopaths,” Shiro replies as he walks in front of and blocks Kance’s exit path.

“I can empathize with _anybody_.” Keith shrugs as he tries to look for another way out with it be overtly obvious. “Less to do with personality disorders than an active imagination.”

“I’d like to borrow your imagination,” Shiro says as he leans forward slightly and smiles.

Knowing that Shiro wouldn't take "no" for an answer, Keith huffs and jerks his head to the side in a "lead the way" motion. Keith keeps his gaze on the ground as he and Shiro walks through the Internal F.B.I. Academy. Even with his eyes glued to the concrete path he can feel the stares of passing by staff and trainees. It’s the middle of autumn. Leaves of reds, oranges, and yellow scurry over the sidewalk as cold winds whisper of the inevitable winter. Keith pays no attention to the group of trainees as some practice at the firing range while another jog in unison in matching sweatpants and sweaters (complete with F.B.I. Academy Trainee logo).

“Eight girls from eight different Minnesota campuses were abducted in the last eight months.” Shiro says as if he was simply commenting about the weather. Keith thinks about making a snide comment on Shiro’s authoritative and almost sociopathic tone but thinks better of it. He’s heard what the famous leader of the Behavioral Science Unit looks like when he’s pissed off and Keith has no intention of seeing if first hand.

At least not for today.

“I thought you said there were seven,” Keith replies. He is fully aware and up to date of the missing girls case.

“There were.”

“Where did you tag the eighth?”

“About three minutes before I walked into your lecture hall.”

Keith had walked into the Behavioral Science Unit before, but it was rather strange walking in next to Shiro. He wasn’t overly fond of the trainees who looked at him as if he were a god.

“You’re calling them ‘abductions’ because you have no bodies?”

Keith knew that if they haven’t found the bodies by now, they wouldn’t find them unless they caught the killer alive. And if the killer was generous enough to tell them.

“We have nothing. No bodies. No parts of bodies. Nothing that comes out of a body. All we have are lonely clean swabs in used evidence kits.”

Keith looks around on the case diagram. He quickly cataloged every picture of each victim. He doesn’t care about their differences. Only their similarities. White/Caucasian. Brown/Brunette hair. Same hair length. Similar facial proportions. Blue eyes. Roughly the same age.

All-American Girl (if she were a brunette).

The seven blue dots on the map correspond where the girls were taken. On top were an array of post-its plotting a detailed plotline of each girl. What they did leading up to their abduction. Who last saw them. Who they last contacted. Etc. etc. etc. Information that would be useful for any profiler but unfortunately not so much for Keith. In order for him to work, he had to physically be at the crime scene. Recreation based on photos or documents sometimes worked but it wasn't as effective.

“All abducted on a Friday so they’re not reported missing until Monday.” Shiro discloses as he takes a step to stand next to Keith. “So he’s needs the weekend to cover his tracks.”

Keith watches as Shiro takes out a picture of the most recent victim and pins it to the board.

“Elise Nichols. St. Cloud State on the Mississippi. Disappeared Friday and was supposed to house sit for her parents. Never made it home to feed the cat.”

Keith takes a look at the picture.

“Well one through seven are dead. He’s not keeping them around. After all, he got himself a _new_ one. Why would he keep the others?” Keith couldn’t help but smile at his own dark joke until he looked over at Shiro who was clearly not pleased.

“So, we’re focusing on Elise Nichols.” Shiro replies agreeingly.

Keith looks across the crime board again. Taking in all the girls with their hopeful smiling faces.

“All-American girl...if she were a brunette.”

“Same hair and eye color. Roughly the same age, height, weight. What is it about these girls?”

“It’s not about these girls,” Keith says as his mind starts role-playing. Slowing piecing together a dark puzzle. “It’s about one of them.”

Keith’s eyes stop on the photo of Elise Nichols as his mind imagines various scenes. Trying to figure out the serial killer. His mind automatically creates scenarios using past serial killer MOs but none of them feel right. Some are too perverse. Some too empty. Some just plain wrong. Slowly the gears in his mind click and turn him in the right direction.

“He’s like Willy Wonka,” Keith takes a step forward and looks at each girl’s picture. “Every girl he takes is a candy bar...hidden among all those candy bars is the one, true intended victim.”

“And,” Keith turns to face Shiro as he finishes up his explanation. “If we follow through on the metaphor, would be your Golden Ticket.”

“Warming up for his Golden Ticket or reliving whatever he did to her?” Shiro’s eyes glance around the crime board trying to think of his own theories as well as trying to figure out what Keith was thinking.

Keith Kogane. Former homicide detective. Lost job due to not being able to use his gun when necessary. Now teaches forensic classes for the FBI. Known to have a unique ability of being able to think like a killer just by visiting the crime scene. Shiro knew as soon as he heard about Keith, he wanted him back on the field. He needed a mind like Keith’s to help solve hard cases (and potentially solve the cast of the century, The Chesapeake Ripper).

“The Golden Ticket wouldn’t be the first taken and she wouldn’t be the last.” Keith holds his hand up and gestures to the crime board before sticking both hands in his pockets. “He would show her how _special_ she is. I mean, I would. Wouldn’t you?”

“I’d like you to get closer to this.” Shiro speaks to Keith after glancing at the crime board one last time.

“You have Coran at Harvard and Allura at Georgetown. They do the same thing I do.”

Translation: Get someone more sociable and stable to do it. I don’t want to.

“That’s not really true, is it? You have a specific way of thinking.”

“Has there been a lot of _discussion_ about the specific way I think?” Keith turned to face Shiro. Above everything, he **_hated_ ** being analyzed the most (especially psychoanalyzed). He lost count of the number of psychologists and psychoanalysts wanting to probe his mind to see what was going on.

“You make jumps you don’t explain.”

“No, the _evidence_ explains,” Keith cuts in. He didn’t think he was special or anything unique among all the other capable (and more stable) detectives and psychologists that do the same things he did when he was on the field. What’s more, he hated be treated that he was special.

“Then help me find some evidence.”

Keith took a deep breath as he looked at Shiro. He looked over and studies the beautiful innocent faces on the map. His shoulders slump knowing that he has no other option. Keith keeps his head to the floor as he walks up to Shiro.

“That may require me to be sociable,” Keith surrenders through gritted teeth.

Duluth, Minnesota 

When Shiro and Keith arrive at the Nichols’ house, it’s well into the night. They are quickly escorted into the living room by Elise’s parents. Keith can easily read their faces. They’re sick with worry. While Keith glances around the living room, he can hear Mr. Nichols quietly rationalizing to Mrs. Nichols who seems almost resigned to the idea that her daughter is never coming back.

“Elise could’ve gone off by herself.” Even a non-detective could hear the panic in Mr. Nichols’s voice. “ She’s a very introverted young woman, She didn’t like living in a dorm. I could see how the pressure of school might’ve gotten to her. She likes trains. Maybe she just got on a train and…”

Shiro was sitting opposite to Mr. and Mrs. Nichols and would on occasion look over his shoulder to make sure Keith was still in the room. Both Shiro and Keith had long tuned out Mr. Nichols as he trails on and on and on. They’ve heard it all before. Keith continues to avoid eye contact and busies himself with looking for the cat.

“She looks like the other girls doesn’t she?” Mrs. Nichols quietly speaks to Shiro.

“She fits the profile,” Shiro responds.

“Could she still be alive?”

“We simply have no way of knowing.”

“How’s the cat?” Keith finally speaks as he turns his body to face Mr. and Mrs. Nichols. He doesn’t need to look at them to know that they were confused by the odd question.

“Excuse me?”

“Your cat? How is it? Elise was suppose to feed it. Was the cat weird when you came home? It didn’t eat all weekend. It must’ve been hungry.”

Mr. and Mrs. Nichols glance at each other not sure how to respond.

“I didn’t notice.”

Keith bites his tongue as he turns his body away for the parents. Shiro gets up and walks to Keith. He can tell by the look on Keith’s face that he has something. Frantic blue-grey eyes darting from one spot to another before glancing at him.

“He took her from here,” Keith whispers (a genuine whisper, aka. words meant only for Shiro to hear and definitely NOT Mr. and Mrs. Nichols) before looking over his shoulder. “She got on a train, came home, fed the cat...and he took her.”

Without any hesitation, Shiro pulls out his phone from his coat pocket and calls. As the phone is ringing, Shiro starts making his way to the front door.

“The Nichols house is a crime scene. I want ERT here immediately. I want Lance, Hunk, Pidge, and a photographer.”

Keith tries to ignore Mr. and Mrs. Nichols as they’re trying to wrap their minds around the quick flurry of events and what is means for their precious daughter. Shiro tries to keep them calm but it only makes them more anxious.

“Why is it _now_ a crime scene?” Mr. Nichols asks Shiro as the latter is busy trying to make more calls.

“Can I see your daughter’s room?”

“Of course...but the police were up there this morning.”

Keith follows Mr. Nichols as he leads him to Elise’s room. The latter still babbling nonsense. Keith quickly pulls on a pair of gloves from his pocket as they approach the door. He looks around with wary eyes and stops on the cat that is pawing at the door eager to get inside. Before Mr. Nichols can make another move, Keith stops him.

“I’ll get that,” Keith says as he gently pushes Mr. Nichols away from the door. “Would you put your hands in your pockets or something...just to avoid touching anything...please?”

God, this is why he hated being sociable. 

“We’ve been in and out of here all day.”

“Then, you can hold the cat if it’s easier.”

Mr. Nichols picks up the long-haired cat as instructed while Keith wraps a gloved hand around the doorknob and opens the door. The room is dark and lights from the hallway streaks through like a stairway to heaven across the floor and up the walls. Keith enters and stops just inside as he immediately notices the open window. His nose catches something but he flicks on the light switch just to make sure. The light is blinding at first but his eyes quickly adjust. Keith turns to the bed and finds the body of Elise Nichols.

She lays coffin-style in her bed. Dressed in a simple white pajamas as if she had just gone to sleep. Keith immediately catalogs the gray pallor of her skin, the clean puncture wounds clearly visible under her pajamas, and her unmoving chest. Sadly, Mr. Nichols has yet to notice and takes a step forward blinded by hope.

“Elise?”

Keith immediately places a gloved hand on Mr. Nichols’s chest stopping him from taking another step.

“Mr. Nichols, I need you to leave the room...now.”

Realizing the worst has happened, Mr. Nichols slowly loses his hold on the cat. The cat jumps down and runs out of the room. It takes a moment before Shiro and the rest of the team to walk up the stairs and reach the room. Keith flexes his fingers as he is finished being wired up. Shiro takes a couple steps around the room before walking up to Keith.

“You’re all wired up,” he speaks softly. “Talk out to us when you feel like it...don’t say anything when you don’t feel like it. Just... take as long as you need. We’ll come in when you tell us.”

Keith nods and is soon left standing alone. He stares blankly as the reflective light of the crime-scene photographer hastily takes as many photos as he can before being ushered out by Shiro. Keith doesn’t give any attention to the others that are in the room. He focuses on his heartbeat, all other sounds are dulled as if his ears are blocked.

Tsuyoushi “Hunk” Garett (early 30’s, focused, reliable) dusts the windows for fingerprints. Katie “Pidge” Holt (late 20’s, highly intelligent borderline genius) busies with combing for hair, fibers, and other foreign materials. Lance McClain (mid 30’s, handsome, occasionally impulsive) shines a light under Elise’s bed exposing a cracked bed board and worn bed springs. Shiro silently herds the team out of the door leaving Keith alone.

Keith shakily scoops up water in his hands from the faucet in the sink to wash down the last two Aspirins from his now empty bottle. He puts the bottle in his jacket pocket before splashing his face with cold water. As he dries it with his shirttail, Keith walks over to the open window and climbs out onto the porch roof. He sits on the gritty shingles and hugs his knees. His damp shirt is pressed chillingly cold across his back as he tries to cleanse the smell of death from his nose. From where he is sitting, Keith can see the array of police cars and officers, ambulances, and other crime scene specialists all assembled on the front lawn. Mr. and Mrs. Nichols are busy being treated in the back of an ambulance.

Keith takes a deep breath and exhales before going back into the room. He slowly closes his eyes and waits for the pendulum.

It swings in the darkness of Keith’s mind. Always keeping in time with his heartbeat.

_Fwum_

_Fwum_

_Fwum_

When Keith opens his eyes, he is now standing outside Elise Nichols’ bedroom window. He turns to look into the neighborhood. It’s quiet and empty. No police. No police cars. No ambulance. Keith looks back through the window and sees Elise Nichols sleeping soundly in her bed. Still breathing. Still alive. Slowly, Keith quietly opens the window and enters. He walks over to her bedside and stands over her. He watches her for a quiet moment and swallows hard as tears start to well in his eyes.

Keith jumps and bears down on Elise’s chest with his knees, cracking ribs as he simultaneously squeezes her throat shut with his hands. Elise is immediately startled out of her deep sleep into terror as she looks up at Keith. It’s all horrible and sudden and violent. She struggles, hands gripping and shaking. Looking for any way to free herself. Her face is swelling with pressure, capillaries in her skin and the whites of her eyes wrinkle and burst. Keith can see the tears streaming down her cheeks as she tries to scream but can’t. The springs in the bed screech. Keith doesn't let go even as the bed boards underneath the mattress snaps.

Keith finally exhales as Elise lets out her last breath and dies.

“You’re Keith Kogane.”

Keith head snaps as he is thrown out of his head. Lance is standing over Elise Nichols’ dead body. He clearly hasn’t left the room as instructed by Shiro and looks over at the exposed body as he peels back the sheets with a pair of tweezers.

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” Keith replies shakily. His hands curls into fists as he tries to stop the shaking. His mind teetering from the present and his imagination.

“You wrote the standard monograph on time of death by insect activity,” Lance smiles as he holds up his tweezers showing Keith what he’s found. “Found velvet in two of the wounds...You’re not real FBI?”

“I’m - I’m a special investigator.”

“ _Never_ been an FBI Agent?” Lance is surprised. He has heard all about the famous Keith Kogane.

“Strict...strict screening procedures.” Keith looks around desperately trying to stabilize himself. It’s been awhile since the last time someone interrupted him.

“Detects instability." Lance eyes glance up and down Keith. "You unstable?”

Before Keith can reply, Shiro hurries in clearly annoyed with Lance. Keith looks down at the now exposed body of Elise Nichols. He was so close and the feeling was now gone.

“You’re not supposed to be in here.” Shiro says as he pulls Lance away from the crime scene and towards the door.

“I found antler velvet in two of the wounds,” Lance tries to justify his action to his superior. “Like she was gored or something. I was looking for velvet in the other wounds but I was interrupted.”

As if it was Keith’s fault for the interruption and not vice versa.

Lance looks over at Keith. Keith retreats even further when Pidge enters the room and stands in the space between Keith and Lance.

“Deer and elk often pin their prey. Put all their weight on the antlers and try to suffocate them.” Pidge glances at the body before looking up at Shiro. “That’s how they’d kill a fox or a coyote.”

“Elise Nichols was strangled and suffocated.” Shiro states shooting down the highly impossible deer theory (just like that ridiculous owl theory for the staircase murder). “The ribs were broken.”

“Besides,” Hunk adds. “It’s not even rutting season. Male deer aren’t even competing this time of year for females.”

“Antler velvet is rich in nutrients,” Keith finally speaks quietly. “It...It actually promotes healing. He...he may have put it there on purpose.”

“You think he wanted to _heal_ her?”

“He wanted…” Keith tries to look at the body but can’t. “He was trying to undo...as much as he could...given he already killed her.”

“He put her back where he found her.”

“Whatever he did to the others...he...he couldn’t do it to her.”

“Is she his Golden Ticket, Lance?”

Pidge and Lance gives each other confused looks as they try to follow the conversation between Shiro and Keith.

“No. This,” Keith gestures to the body as he swallows hard. “This is an apology.” The “apology” catches in Keith’s throat and hangs heavy in the air. He rubs his hand over his forehead and takes a deep breath. He’s never met a killer like this before and it shakes him. “Does anyone have any Aspirin?”

Wolf Trap, Virginia 

Keith plops behind the steering wheel of his car. He takes a deep breath as he is finally back in Virginia. Remembering the empty Aspirin bottle, Keith pulls it out of his pocket and tosses it into the open glove compartment. It’s full of empty bottles. As he drives, Keith stares into the empty road until the headlights catch something in the distance. He leans forward over the steering wheel and slows down when he realizes it’s a stray dog.

“Hello,” Keith says as he slows down and pulls alongside the dog. A rope is around its neck but there’s no collar. Despite being both absolutely exhausted emotionally and physically, Keith pursues the stray and tries what he can to build its trust. Keith parks his car and moves to sit in the open trunk. He start unwrapping a bag of hotdogs and throws a chunk on the road for the dog. The stray stops and accepts Keith’s bribe.

“Good boy,” Keith smiles as he scratches the dog behind his ear.

Keith takes the stray home and is surprised when the dog stands patiently as he sheers off the matted fur with an electric trimmer. He praises the dog constantly as he continues giving the dog a bath and is later towel-dried. Keith give the stray some more treats as he puts him in a kennel and whistles for the others.

“Cosmo,” Keith looks at the stray. “This is everyone.”

Keith gestures to the eight other formally stray dogs all sitting in the half circle around the kennel.

“Everyone, this is Cosmo.”

The alpha dog of the group quickly gets up from his sitting position and growls at Cosmo before Keith corrects the aggressive behavior with a sharp look and warning “hey”. He lets the dogs get used to the new addition after the alpha steps back in line and lays down obediently. Later that night the entire pack huddle together surrounding Cosmo’s dog kennel while Keith slept quietly in his bed on the other side of the room. Keith had always been a terrible sleeper but that was just repercussions of the so-called “gift” he had. As he slowly opened his eyes, he looked as the moonlight-cast shadows of tree branches stretching across the walls and ceiling. His eyes leave the claw-like shadows as he listens for the second breather. Slowly, he turns over onto his other side to see laying in the bed next to him,

Elise Nichols

She’s wearing the nightgown she was found in appearing exactly like she was in her own bed, but now in his. As Keith reaches out to touch her, antler-like tree branches pierce through her wounds. The antler are black and Keith swallows hard as they shift and extend through Elise Nichols, re-impaling her and pulling her into the shadows.

Keith jolts upright in his bed, breathing heavily. His shirt is soaked with sweat and clings indiscriminately as he looked around for the body of Elise Nichols. She was only lying next to him in his dream. He runs his hands over his face and climbs out of bed. In the bathroom, he peels his clothes off like a wet bathing suit and throws them into a hamper. He grabs a couple of towels before returning to his bed. He pulls the damp sheet off the mattress and layers the towels over the newly replaced fitted sheet and pulls on a dry shirt and underwear. Keith crawls over the towels and pulls the sheets back over himself. Heaving a deep sigh, he tries to fall back to sleep. Praying for a dreamless sleep.

Int. F.B.I Headquarters - Men’s Bathroom 

Keith dunks his face in the well he has made under a running faucet. Still rattled from his nightmare and the case, he splashes water on his face again before turning it off and pushes the lever to open the drain. As he pats his face dry, Shiro walks in impatient. He looks like he’s been looking all over for Keith for some time.

“What are you doing in here?” Shiro wastes no time getting to the point and using that alpha authoritative tone.

“I enjoy the smell of urinal cake,” Keith sasses back. He was too tired and it was too early for politeness. That usually came after copious amounts of coffee which he hasn’t had yet.

“Me too,” Shiro replies quickly appearing to care less about Keith’s sass. “We need to talk.”

An agent enters to use the facilities but stops in his tracks as soon as he notices Shiro.

“USE THE LADIES ROOM!” Shiro yells and turns his attention back to Keith. The agent scurries quickly out of the bathroom and Shiro goes to lock the door to prevent further interruptions. Keith bit the inside of his cheek realizing that he was not going anywhere until this conversation was over.

“Do you respect my judgement, Keith?”

“Yes,” Keith goes to put his hands in his pockets but thinks better of it. Instead he puts his hands on the edge of the sink and leans back.

“Good, because we have a better chance of catching this son of a bitch if you’re in the saddle.”

“I’m in the saddle...just confused which direction I’m pointing.” Keith’s mind quickly runs through all his knows about the killer and no matter which directions he looks at, he can’t pinpoint anything that would lead to the killer’s capture. “I don’t know this kind of psychopath. I’ve _never_ read about him. I don’t even know if he’s a psychopath.”

Keith starts pacing and continues to think through the evidence. “He’s not insensitive. He’s not shallow.”

“You could tell there was something about him otherwise you wouldn’t have said this was an apology. What is he apologizing for?”

“He couldn’t honor her!” Keith runs a hand through his hair. He’s completely stumped. He’s dealt with all types of killers but _never_   one like this. “He feels bad.”

“Feeling bad defeats the purpose of being a psychopath, doesn’t it?”

“Yea, it does.”

“WELL THEN WHAT _KIND_ OF CRAZY IS HE?!?!”

“He couldn’t show her he loved her so he put her corpse back where he killed it!”

Any other agent might have flinched or cowered at Shiro’s yelling but not Keith. Keith was used to being yelled at. That was the FBI or any other top-level organizations for you. All the higher up officials were either alpha personalities, psychopaths, or some mixture of the two. While Keith doesn’t particularly enjoy being yelled at, he was getting a little annoyed at being drilled for more clues when he couldn’t even understand his own thoughts.

“Whatever crazy that is,” Keith shrugged.

“You think he loves these girls?”

“He loves one of them...and I think by associations, yes. He has some form of love for the others.”

“There was no semen, no saliva. Elise Nichols died a virgin and that corpse kept her promise.”

“That’s _not_ how he’s loving them,” Keith could tell he was growing more and more agitated, his voice getting louder and louder. Keeping up with his mind was hard enough. “He wouldn’t disrespect them that way! He doesn’t want these girls to suffer. He kills them quickly...and...to his thinking...with mercy.”

“Sensitive psychopath" Shiro says as he nods to himself. "...risked getting caught to tuck Elise Nicholas back into her bed.”

“He has to take another girl soon,” Keith frowns as he feels his mind tapping deeper into the mind of the killer. His eyes swim as the killer’s thought process unravels. “Because he _knows_...he’s going to get caught.”

Soon after their conversation, Keith finds his escape when he spots Lance running through headquarters to hold up a plastic bag containing a small tiny curl of metal. As he goes on about how he found it and what it’s properties the metal has, Keith escapes to find someplace with peace and quiet.

F.B.I. Academy, Quantico, Virginia 

“Kogane likes you,” Shiro comments as he walks side-by-side with acclaimed psychology professor, Dr. Allura Altean. She is a guest professor at the FBI Academy and sometimes acts as a consultant on difficult cases. Dedicated and compassionate, Dr. Allura is known among her colleagues to be not only dedicated to her work but also dedicated to the wellbeing of others. Her confidence in herself and her abilities make her capable of standing up both for herself and for others. She speaks her mind freely and has no problem disagreeing with anything she deems unethical and potentially damaging (though sometimes she has a tendency to be stubborn and unwavering in her opinions when she believes she is right). “He doesn’t think you run any mind games on him.”

“That’s because I don’t,” Allura replies as she tames a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m as honest with him as I’d be with a patient.”

“Have you observed him during your guest lectures at the academy?”

“Never been in a room alone with him,” Allura stops to face Shiro. “I want to be his friend and I am. You already asked me to do a study on him and I gave you my answer.”

“Seems a shame not to take advantage, academically speaking.”

“Any scholarly paper on Keith Kogane would have to be published posthumously.” Allura started walking again. This time a little slower.

“Why aren’t you ever alone with him?” Shiro asks as he crosses his hands behind his back.

“Because I have a professional curiosity about him.”

“Would he snatch down the shades if he caught you peeking?”

That caused Allura to stop in her tracks again.

“Normally I wouldn’t even _broach_ this subject, but what do you think is one of Keith’s strongest drives is?”

Shiro knows exactly what Allura is getting at. He stops and turns to face her as he replies. “Fear. Keith deals with huge amounts of fear...comes with his imagination.”

“It’s the _price_ of imagination,”Allura corrects.

“I wouldn’t put him out there if I couldn’t cover him one hundred-” Allura crosses her arms and gives an unconvinced look, “alright, eighty percent.”

“I wouldn’t put him out there at all, Shiro.”

“Well he’s out there and I need him out there. And I need _you_ to make sure he’s not left out there alone.”

“You really wouldn’t want me commenting on this in any official capacity. It wouldn’t reflect well on you, Shiro.”

Shiro nods and heaves a frustrated breath. Allura was the only psychologist that Shiro knew who wouldn’t appear a threat to Keith (and wouldn't be a kiss up towards him). At least she was the only psychologist that Shiro knew that Keith wouldn’t immediately be hostile with.

“I know someone that might have what you're looking for. Just promise me you won’t let him get too close.” Allura says with worry. It reads all over her face.

“He won’t.”

Int. F.B.I. Headquarters - Examination Room 

Keith leans against the wall in the back while Pidge, Keith, and Hunk continue their examinations of the body of Elise Nichols. Pidge and Hunk hover over the examination table as Lance continues to unzip the body bag. All are wearing proper examination gear - gloves, aprons, and splash visors.

“I tried her skin for print,” Pidge starts as she circles the examination table for a better spot. “Of course, nothing. We did, however, get a nice hand spread off her neck. No fingerprints though.”

“Report say anything about nails?” Lance asks as he kneels down to look for any abnormalities on the skin surface.

“Well her fingernails were smudged when we took scrapings but after tests the scrapings were where she cut her palms,” Hunk replies as he looks over the test results on a white clipboard. “She never scratched him.”

“So the curly piece of metal is all we got.” Pidge stands and glances over the body.

“We should start looking at plumbers, steamfitters...anybody who works heavily with tools.” Keith replies absently as he stares at the body. He is also outfitted in proper examination gear. The splash visor is perched on top of his head. As he walks closer to the examination table, he pulls down the visor. For a moment, his breathing fogs up the visor and his imagination snaps to Elise Nichols.

She stands naked in a pitch black darkness. Her face and skin a deathly pallor. Just like in his nightmare, antlers sprout like branches from her wounds but this time bright crimson streams across the antlers defying gravity.

But just as soon as the vision appears, it leaves as Keith snaps back to reality.

“Other injuries were probably, but not conclusively, postmortem.” Hunk continues as he read off the clipboard. “She wasn’t gored to death.”

“She has lots of wounds that look like they were caused by deer antlers...but I highly doubt a deer put them there.”

“She was mounted on them,” Keith comments causing two of the three to look at him with surprised faces. “He mounted her body on them like hooks...she may have been bled.”

“Her liver was removed.” Pidge is too distracted by the abdominal wound to pay any attention to Keith. She pokes around until she finds what she’s looking for. Her brows furrow as she continues her investigation. “He took it out...but then he put it back in?”

“Why would he cut out her liver if he was just going to sew it back in?” Hunk asks as walks over to where Pidge is and also inspects the liver.

All muscle in Keith’s face goes slack as more of the puzzle comes together.

“Something’s wrong with the meat.”

Hunk looks up from the liver dazed, confused, but also surprised. “Did you _know_ she has liver cancer?”

Keith swallows hard as his intuition was proved right.

“He’s eating them.”

To the soft music of Goldberg Variations by Bach, a handsome, professional man sits poised as he cuts a piece of liver. He sits in a well-appointed dining room table with place settings that are appropriate with the elegance of the dark mahogany and a beautifully prepared and presented liver. The man is in his early 40s with a face that gives away his erudite nature. Everything he wears to the way he carries himself carries an image of refined language and art. A regalia of an age long forgotten but nonetheless admired in the high art portraits of past royalty that hang in the many renowned fine art museums. A lover of the fine arts, foods, literature, and music. A man of taste and details to a point of nearly obsessive perfectionism.

After elegantly cutting a piece of liver, he skewers it with his forks before applying a balance of garnishes and sauce with his knife. Slowly, he bring the fork to his mouth and takes a bite. He closes his eyes as he chews slowly to savor each flavor before taking a sip of dark red wine. A stray white lock of hair falls in front of his face. Setting his wine glass down without making a single sound, the man picks up his napkin that is far more extravagant to be labelled as such and uses it as a boundary between his hair and fingers as he puts to the lock of hair back in place.

Lotor Galran, psychiatrist; former surgeon.

The sound of a grown man’s quiet sobbing is ill-fitting in an immaculate elegant room filled with antiques, artifacts and a wide collection of books in the architectural style of Sir John Soane. One would think that Art Deco elements would clash with the overall Neo-Classical style. But oddly enough, it works and adds a little modern feeling. Dark crimson walls with dark-stained antique furniture that probably cost a fortune. Lotor sits in an equally elegant (and expensive) art chair across from the sobbing grown man. He’s a relatively handsome well-groomed gentleman probably in his mid-30s give or take a couple years. Lotor watches the man inscrutably for a long moment studying him. There is an uncomfortableness in his face but it’s easily masked as professional indifference. His jaw locks as Morvok, the sobbing man, reaches out for the tissue box that’s sitting next to Lotor on a glass side table.

“Please,” Morvok sniffs as he tries to find some dignity in his sobbing. Lotor hands him the box of tissues.

“I hate being this neurotic.” Morvok sniffs as he wipes his eyes and blows nose (noisily).

“If you weren’t neurotic, Morvok, you would be something much worse.” There is a foreign accent in Lotor’s voice that both alluring and enhances the mystic of his appearance. A modern Dracula without the fangs and bloodlust but with all the allure, mystery and beauty.

Fabio wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Our brains are designed to experience short bursts of anxiety and not the prolonged foamy lathers of duress your neuroses seem to enjoy. That’s why you feel as though a lion is always on the verve to devour you.”

Lotor stops speaking for a moment as he eyes the used tissue Morvok tosses on the side table. There’s flash of darkness across his face. A peak at the monster hiding underneath the well tailored person suit. But it’s soon gone as it quickly retreats back in the shelter of its own darkness.

“Morvok, you have to convince yourself that the lion is not in the room. I assure you that you will know when it does appear.”

Lotor gives a small smile for reassurance before standing and escorting his patient out. As Lotor opens the door, he finds Special Agent Takashi Shirogane. Shiro stands up after patiently waiting.

“Doctor Lotor Galran?”

“I hate to be discourteous,” Lotor interrupts before Shiro can continue speaking, “but this is a private exit for my patients.”

“My apologies,” Shiro quickly digs into his inside pocket to pull out his badge. “Special Agent Takashi Shirogane with the FBI. May I come in?”

Lotor eyes his credentials for a moment. “You may wait in the waiting room.” He turns his attention to Morvok to finish escorting him out. “I’ll see you next week, Morvok. Unless this is about him?”

Lotor knows it’s not about his patient but it doesn’t hurt to play up the charade. It was quite entertaining to see the rush of panic fly across Morvok's face. He knows exactly who Shiro is but less on what he’s here for. In any case he’d very much hate to have his beautiful rugs stained if it came to the worst possible scenario.

“Oh, no. This is all about you.”

Lotor blinks and forces a flat smile. He gestures to Shiro the direction to the waiting room. He disinfects the glass side table that used to have that disgusting used tissue at a leisurely pace. Lotor knows exactly how much time to give himself to not be rude but at the same time give him the satisfaction of feeling superior. It’s a relatively base feeling that would on occasion make Lotor feel ordinary but he indulges in it nonetheless for the brief satisfaction. He straightens his suit before walking over to open the door for Shiro.

“Please, come in.”

Lotor watches as Shiro surveys his room; from the collection of books to the displayed artifacts. His eyes continue to follow the man as he admires the hanged art.

“May I ask how this is about me?”

“You can ask,” Shiro replies as he turns to face Lotor, “but I do need to ask you a few questions first...are you expecting another patient?”

“We’re all alone.”

“No secretary?”

“Pre-dispositioned to romantic whims,” Lotor replies as he takes a couple steps closer. “Followed her heart to the United Kingdom. She was a good secretary, sad to see her go.”

In reality, she was a rude overly flirtatious secretary who knew nothing of personal space and human mannerisms. Although, Lotor must admit, the liver in smoked paprika and lung in wine sauce was tasteful. Shame he didn’t have anyone to share the meal with. It was exquisite. Perhaps one of his best. He follows Shiro as he walks up to a table that is neatly scattered with incomplete meticulous pencil drawings.

“Are these yours Doctor?”

“Among the first,” Lotor replies as he steps closer until he’s standing right next to Shiro. “My boarding school in Paris when I was a boy.”

“This is an incredible amount of detail.”

“I learned very early that a scalpel cuts better points than a pencil sharpener.” Lotor picks up a pencil and cuts a point with a scalpel, blowing the shaving off the tip to reveal the sharpness. He continues to hold the pencil and scalpel, eyes momentarily drifting to Shiro’s jugular.

“I understand your drawings got you an internship at Johns Hopkins.”

Lotor’s nostrils flared slightly as his eyes dilated. He exhales a soft breath as he continues with his calm observation. Hands still holding on to the pencil and scalpel.

“I’m beginning to suspect you’re investigating me, Agent Shirogane.”

“No, no, no,” Shiro laughs, “you were referred to me by Dr. Allura Altean, the psychology department at Georgetown.”

Lotor’s demeanor changes ever so slightly as he puts down the pencil and scalpel on his desk. “Most psychology departments are filled with ham-radio enthusiasts and other personality deficients. Dr. Altean would be the exception.”

“You mentored her during her residency at John Hopkins?”

“I learned as much from her as she learned from me,” Lotor puts his hands in his pockets, a necessary gesture to show relaxed invulnerability.

“I read your paper in the Journal of Clinical Psychiatry. The ‘Evolutionary Origins of Social Exclusion’. Very interesting, even for a layman.”

“A layman?” Lotor’s eyebrow rise just ever so slightly. “I suspect there are many learned fellows going about in the halls of the Behavioral Science at the FBI and you consider yourself a layman?”

“I do when I’m in your company, Doctor. If it’s not too much of your time, I’d like you to help me with a psychological profile.”

Int. F.B.I - Shiro’s Office 

Keith is sitting on of the chairs in Shiro’s office as Lotor stands looking at the crime board. When he first saw/met Dr. Lotor Galran, Keith admits that the man is aesthetically pleasing for the eyes. Very aesthetically pleasing. Poised, well dressed. He was pretty sure only a man like Dr. Lotor Galran could pull off long hair and still look masculine. He was not what Keith was expecting when Shiro told him he was bringing a psychiatrist to help with the psychological profile.

“How many confessions?” Lotor asks as he continues looking at the crime board.

Even his voice was something Keith wasn’t expecting. Thank god he wasn’t much of a masturbator or else he might have put Dr. Lotor Galran in his “spank bank”.

“The last time I checked, twelve dozen. Of course none of them knew details until this morning when some genius in Duluth PD took pictures of Elise Nichols’ body with their phone and shared it with a few close friends. And of course Merla Tress got hold of it and put on tattlecrime.com.”

“Tasteless,” Keith mutters.

“Do you have trouble with taste?” Lotor asks as he walks over and takes the open seat next to Keith.

“My thought are often not _tasty_.”

“Nor mine. No effective barriers?”

“I make forts.”

“Associations must come quickly.”

“So do forts.”

Lotor notices Keith avoiding eye contact. He seems to be adamant to look anywhere but in the eyes.

“Are you not fond of eye contact?”

“Eyes are distracting,” Keith smiles as he unapologetically continues to avoid eye contact. “You see too much...you don’t see enough. And it’s hard to focus when you’re thinking,” Keith finally gives eye contact in a mocking manner (but Lotor doesn’t mind), “Wow those whites are _really_ white or did his pupils just dilate, or is that a burst vein?”

Lotor smiles, genuinely.

“So I try to avoid eyes whenever possible.”

“I’d imagine what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind.” Lotor isn’t deflected from making his own observations. “Your values and decency are present yet you’re shocked at your associations, appalled by your own dreams. No forts for the things you love.”

Lotor could’ve gone on but he’s not about to give Keith the satisfaction of knowing just how much he knows. Not yet at least.

“Whose profile are you working on?” Keith whispers slowly as he feels like he’s just been hit with ice water. “Whose profile is he working on?!?” He asks to Shiro, this time showing _exactly_ how pissed off he is.

“I must apologize, Keith.” Lotor takes a sip from the courtesy coffee (even though in reality he would never allow such tasteless common beverage to touch his mouth). “Observing is what we do. I can’t shut mine off any more than you can shut off yours.”

“ _Please_ don’t psychoanalyze me,” Keith mutters as if he has tasted something foul. Lotor notes that Keith clearly doesn’t appreciate the intrusion into his psyche. “You won’t _like me_ when I’m psychoanalyzed.”

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” Keith gets up and grabs his bag. “I have to give a lecture...on psychoanalyzing.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t poke him like that, Doctor,” Shiro says after Keith storms out of his office. “Perhaps a less direct approach would be better.”

“During intense conversations, does he always adopt your cadence of speech?”

Shiro thinks for a moment before slowly nodding. “I thought it was a gimmick to keep the conversation going but yes, he has done that.”

“It’s involuntary. I don’t think he could stop it even if he tried. What he has Shiro is pure empathy. He can easily assume your point of view, or mine...or maybe some other points of view that scare him. It’s an uncomfortable gift, Shiro. Perception is a tool that’s pointed on both ends.”

“This cannibal you have him getting to know…,” Lotor looks back at the crime board as a dark fantasy starts to unfold in his mind. “I think I can help good Keith see his face.”

Minnesota Field- Morning 

A young female body is mounted like a tabletop on a head of antlers belonging to the severed head of a trophy stag. She has similar wound patterns on her torso to the ones Elise Nichols had. There are also two large puncture wounds on her chest. She’s naked and impaled on the antlers tastefully as a murder of crows gather around her picking at her skin to expose the flesh underneath. It's almost as if they are guests eating at a dinner table.

Shiro and Keith step over the police tape as Lance shoos the crows away. Hunk and Pidge immediately get to work and start combing the area for forensic evidence.

“I feel like I’m dreaming,” Keith says as he looks at the body. His mind is hit instantly with the pathology of a completely different killer. He's felt this kind of pathology before...but at the same time it's different. There's door in this pathology that Keith is afraid but also tempted to open.

It's dark and dangerous.

“The stag head was reported stolen last night about a mile away from here. Minneapolis homicide has already made a statement. They’re calling him the ‘Minnesota Shrike’.”

“The bird?”

“The Shrike is a perching bird,” Hunk calls out as he continues combing the body for evidence. “Impales its prey on thorny branches and barbed wire. Rips their organs right out of their bodies and puts them in a little birdie pantry to eat later. They’re quite intelligent birds. And kind cute looking.”

“Only you would have an extended knowledge on birds, Hunk.” Pidge smiles as she shakes her head and continues looking for evidence.

“It doesn’t hurt to be knowledgeable over a wide variety of subject. You never know when you’ll need it.”

“I can’t tell if it’s sloppy or shrewd,” Shiro comments as he gets closer to the body.

“He wanted her to be found this way,” Keith says as he keeps a good distance from the body. His mind is already conjuring up the crime and he doesn’t like what he’s feeling or thinking. It’s hard for him to look at the body. “It’s...it’s petulant. Like the homicidal equivalent of fecal smearing. I almost feel like he’s mocking her...or mocking us.”

“Where did all his love go?”

“Whoever tucked Elise Nichols into bed didn’t do this.”

“He look her lungs,” Lance breathes as he looks up from the body at Shiro. “I’m pretty sure he cut them out while she was alive.”

Keith has to turn away from the body to give his mind some relief. He runs a shaky hand through his hair as he tries to reel back the images. God, what he wouldn’t give right now for some Aspirin. Shiro and Lance stand over the table that is the body now identified as the body of Cassie Boyle. Pidge and Hunk are busy working nearby.

“Our cannibal _loves_ women.” Keith turns to Shiro, looking everywhere else except at the body. “He doesn’t want to destroy them, he wanted to _consume_ them. Keep some part of them inside. This girl’s killer thought that she was a pig!”

“You think this was a copycat?”

Keith steps back as he distances himself from the crime but also getting himself to get a wider look at the field. It’s a stage and the girl is the opening act.

“The cannibal who killed Elise Nichols has a place to do it and has no interest in this field kabuki...He has a house, or two, or a-a cabin of something with an antler room.” Keith sighs as the missing pieces of the puzzle finally become clear. Everything now made sense and there’s a part of Keith that feels terrible that it took him this long to figure it out. Or for this murder to happen for him to see it. “He has a daughter. Same age as the other girls. Same hair color, same eyes, same height, same weight. She’s an only child...she leaving home...and he can’t _stand_ the thought of losing her. She’s the Golden Ticket.”

Keith starts to walk back to cross under the police tape. He’s seen enough and wants (needs) to get away.

The closed door was getting too tempting.

“What about the copycat?”

“Intelligent psychopath,” Keith turns to Shiro but still keep walking. “Particularly a sadist is hard to catch. There’ll be no traceable motive. There’ll be no pattern. He may never kill this way again.” And to add more salt to the open wound. “Why don’t you have Dr. Galran draw up a psychological profile You seemed _very impressed_ with his opinion.”

Keith tried not to grimace too much at the state of the motel room. He locked the door before taking a shower and going to sleep. He goes to bed earlier than most men his age. But then again they don’t suffer from the night terrors he has. It isn’t long before he off dreaming. It always starts the same, not too out of the ordinary or dangerous. But it always ends in macabre. This time he’s walking quietly through a foggy meadow. The sky is clear and Keith can see stars sparkling. He’s relax until he spots it. A surreal vision of a beast. A raven-feathered lion with bright yellow eyes. Keith holds his breath as the lion stop and watches him. White clouds of air puff out its nose as it snorts. Then a sudden knocking startles the lion and it bolts back into the safety of the woods.

Keith jolts awake as the sound of a second knocking. He shuffles quickly to the door even though he’s a little delirious. As he opens the door, Keith winces at the bright sunlight and furrows his brows at the sight of Dr. Lotor Galran standing outside holding a thermos and a small thermal food storage bag.

“Good morning, Keith. May I come in?”

“Where’s Shiro?” Keith looks beyond Lotor’s shoulder trying to look for any hint of Agent Shiro not really caring that he’s only wearing a undershirt and boxer briefs. He really didn’t want to be alone with Lotor. He wasn’t ready (or in the mood) for another psyche-eval.

“Deposed in court. The adventure will be yours and mine today.”

Keith eaves the door open as he walks back into the room. Lotor takes the invitation and closes the door behind him as he walks in. The room is still dark but Lotor doesn’t say anything as he walks to the small dining table and starts setting up breakfast.

“I am very careful about what I put into my body,” Lotor starts as he opens a very fancy set of tupperware containers on top of place settings (Keith had no idea there was even a thing as _fancy_ tupperware). The sight is very odd for a motel dining table but Keith doesn’t comment. He closes his eyes as he smells the freshly brew coffee being poured from the thermos into two cups. “Which means I end up preparing most meals myself. A little protein scramble to start the day.”

Lotor watches Keith like a hawk as the latter takes a bite of his breakfast scramble. He feels a small smile creep onto his face as Keith moans as he takes a bite of the sausage.

“It’s delicious, thank you.”

Even though Lotor is perfectly capable to successfully hide his amusement, Keith is too focused on eating to notice. 

“I would apologize for my analytical ambush, but I know I will soon be apologizing again and you’ll tire of that eventually so I have to consider using apologies sparingly.”

“Just keep it professional,” Keith replies as he takes a sip of coffee. He’s able to keep himself from moaning again but damn that was the best cup of coffee he’s ever had.

“Or we could socialize like adults,” Lotor smiles as he adds a good balance of eggs and sausage on his fork before he takes a bite. “God forbid we become friendly.”

“I don’t find you that interesting, Dr. Lotor.”

“You will,” Lotor stops his fork to look up at Keith. He catalogs his face down the specks of violet in Keith’s eyes that flicker in the morning sunlight. “Agent Shirogane tells me you have a knack for the monsters.”

“I don’t think the Shrike killed that girl in the field,” Keith changes the subject as he pushes aside his breakfast for now.

“The devil’s in the details,” Lotor mimics Keith and folds his arms on the table as he leans forward. “What didn’t your copycat do to the girl in the field? What gave it away?”

“ _Everything_. It’s like I had to be shown a negative to see the positive. That crime scene was practically gift-wrapped.”

“The mathematics of human behavior,” Lotor quietly slides his breakfast back in front of him and starts eating again. “All those ugly variables. Some bad math with this Shrike fellow. Are you reconstructing his fantasies?”

Keith nods as he slides his plate back in front but doesn’t resume eating. Instead, he takes another sip from his coffee.

“What kind of problems does he have?”

“Oh he has a few.”

Almost with a wink and a smile, “You ever have any problems, Keith?”

“No,” Keith laughs breathlessly. He has plenty and definitely far more than the average human being.

“Of course you don’t,” Lotor smiles as he takes another bite. “You and I are just alike. Problem-free. Nothing about us to feel horrible about. You know, Keith? I think dear Uncle Shiro sees you as a fragile little teacup. The finest China used for only special guests.”

Now Keith genuinely laughs. He has never been described as a teacup let alone hear someone refer to Agent Shiro as "Uncle Shiro".

“How do you see me?” Keith asks after his laughter dies down.

“The mongoose I want hiding under the house when the snakes slither by.”

Keith smiles falters when he sees how serious Lotor looks. There’s a silent moment between them before Lotor gestures and tells Keith to finish his breakfast. While Keith was finishing his breakfast, he couldn’t help but periodically look up and watch Lotor. He couldn’t imagine himself as a teacup or a mongoose...but perhaps a mongoose was better.

He helps Lotor clean the tupperware and thermos before driving to their first spot, a pipe shredding construction site. As he parks the car, Keith notices Lotor smiling.

“What are you smiling about?”

“Peeking behind the curtain. I’m just curious to see how the FBI goes about its business when it’s not kicking in doors.”

“You’re lucky we’re not doing house-to-house interviews,” Keith smirks. He hated any kind of social interactions and neighbor interviews were the worst. Never giving enough details and always asking questions. “We found a small piece of metal in Elise Nichols’ clothes. A shred from a metal pipe threader.”

“There must be hundreds of constructions sites all over Minnesota.”

“Well construction sites differ in the kinds of metal they use, kind of pipe, pipe coating. So we’re checking all the construction sites that use the kind of pipe we found.”

“What are we looking for?” Lotor asks as they both get out of the car.

“At this point...anything really. But mostly anything peculiar.”

Keith and Lotor step out of the rental car and cross toward the camper trailer office. A flustered and mildly suspicious secretary talks in an ineffective hushed tone on the phone while Keith and Lotor busy themselves by looking through the files upon files of pages before putting them in file boxes.

“Yes,” the secretary glances over her shoulder to look at Keith and Lotor, “two men from the FBI. They’re going through everything. Putting papers in files boxes. Yes, they’re taking things! No, they didn’t say - yes they can.”

“What were your names again?” the secretary asks as she puts a hand over the phone.

“Aldus Kent,” Keith says his name slowly as he holds out a resignation letter.

“One of our pipe threaders. Those are all the resignation letters. Plumbers Union requires them whenever a member finishes a job.” Remembering she still had the phone, she quickly told the person that she’d call back before hanging up.

“And does Mr. Kent have a daughter?”

“Might have...I don’t know.”

“Eighteen, nineteen, wind-chafed? Plain but pretty? She would have auburn hair.”

“I don’t know. I don’t keep company with these people.”

“What is it about Aldus Kent that you find so interesting?” Lotor asks as he takes a couple steps to stand almost right next to Keith.

“Left only a phone number. No address.” Keith hands over the resignation letter over to Lotor.

“Therefore he has something to hide?”

Keith shrugs. “Everyone else left an address. It's probably nothing.”

He doesn’t really put too much weight on the matter but at least it was something to look into. It was better than nothing.

“Do you have an address for Mr. Kent?”

The secretary manages to find the address for Mr. Aldus Kent and later helps Keith and Lotor haul file boxes from the makeshift office building to the trunk of the rental car. As Lotor is handing Keith a stack of file boxes, he allows himself to knock a box allowing some of the files to fall out scattering papers.

“I got it,” Keith says as he see Lotor starting down the stairs to help pick up the pages. He picks up the files and tries to put them back neatly in their appropriate files before stacking them in the trunk.

In the trailer office, Lotor waits as the door hinges click closed and locks it with a click. He watches Keith and the secretary clean up the mess he made. Satisfied, he plucks out a tissue before picking up the phone and dialing a number with his knuckle. He periodically glancing through the window as he waits for the line to pick-up.

“Mr. Aldus Kent,” Lotor speaks simply and clearly. “You don’t know me and I suspect we’ll never meet. This is a courtesy call so listen very carefully...are you listening?”

“They know.”

Kent House 

Keith breathes evenly as he stares blankly in the distance. All surrounding sound is dulled and he makes no indication to wipe the macabre that is painted on his face and clothes. Blood-spattered he leans against his rental car idling across the street as a circus of ambulances, paramedics, police cars and officers swan the house. Keith takes a shaky breath and exhales slowly before closing his eye.

The pendulum swings.

_Fwum_

_Fwum_

_Fwum_

It swings outside his head wiping away the police cars and officers.

_Fwum_

The blood coating the front door step is wiped clean.

_Fwum_

His face is restored to its clean state. All blood and horrible streaks of madness vanish.

_Fwum_

Keith opens his eyes and sees the Kent house, decriminalized and innocent. He pops open his Aspirin bottle and swallows a couple pills before getting out. Lotor unbuckles his seatbelt on the passenger side, he lets his hair fall to his face. Hiding the smile, the smallest hint of excitement. He stays behind as he watches Keith walk purposefully to the front door.

Keith tries his best not to look uncomfortable but something his gut tells him that something isn’t right. He makes it about halfway up the driveway when the door is suddenly open. He sees Aldus Kent and for a moment he can’t process what he’s seeing. A woman, possibly Mrs. Kent, is bleeding and wheezing as she is shoved down the porch steps before the door is slammed shut behind her.

Keith runs to her and tries to stop the bleeding. Her skin is losing color fast and it sharply contrasts the crimson pouring out. Keith can feel his own body not responding as his hands start to shake. There’s just so much blood. His eyes are frantic and he uncatalogued the multiple puncture wounds on her torso and arms. She grasps for Keith streaking him with her blood before clutching his wrists as he body spasms. He knows that she’s not going to make it and pries her blood slick fingers from his wrists. He tries to ignore the last flickers of fear and pain from her eyes and he shakily grabs his gun and rams himself into the door to force it open.

He’s not sure whether the sickening crack was from his shoulder or from the front door’s wooden frame. He steps back for a moment before kicking down the door with all the strength he has. Keith holds up the gun in position as he enters the house.

“Aldus Kent, FBI.”

Keith works his way from room to room, gun always first. He can feel adrenaline pumping through him and ignores the splatter of blood defacing the walls and floors. He doesn’t even notice the blood spatter over innocent family photos. Everything comes to a halt when he enters the kitchen. Aldus Kent is behind his daughter with a knife to her throat. She is sobbing and hyperventilating.

Time slows to a crawl as Aldus Kent slashes her throat as Keith raises his pistol.

BAM

BAM

BAM

He fires into Kent’s exposed torso one after the other. As Kent goes to stab his daughter, Keith fires again.

BAM

BAM

BAM

Even though Kent is now nowhere near his daughter, Keith continues to fire.

BAM

BAM

BAM

BAM

Once Kent is down, Keith runs to the daughter. She is wheezing, struggling to breath. He tries to apply pressure to the wound but his own hands are shaking so much it’s difficult. Even his breathing is shaking; everything is shaking.

“See.”

Keith looks up and turns to see Aldus Kent. He hisses at Keith through a dying breath.

“See.”

Keith can feel himself shutting down and tries so hard to keep the daughter alive. Out of his line of sight, he see Lotor’s hands take over. He moves swiftly and applies the needed pressure to keep the girl from bleeding out. Keith stumbles back letting Lotor work. He tries to even his breathing and doesn’t notice Lotor glancing up to look at him. He sits there in the kitchen in all its macabre until the circus of ambulances, paramedics, police cars and officers arrive. He stands aside and watches the paramedics haul the girl into the back of their ambulance.

Keith wants to be where Lotor is. Holding the girl’s hand and crawling in the ambulance beside her as the paramedic pulls the doors shut and blares its sirens as it drives away from the crime scene.

Everything else is a blur.

F.B.I. Academy Lecture Hall - Quantico, VA 

Shiro is walking down the corridor towards Keith’s lecture hall but when he gets there, he sees Dr. Allura instead of Keith at the front of the class. He stands to the side as Allura is in mid-lecture.

“Biting in lesser assaults and bar fights, child abuse, etc. Emergency room personnel may be very helpful that way.” Allura sees Shiro from her peripheral and glances in his direction to double check. She walks in his direction as she continues to lecture. “If they have any memories of bad bites, no matter who was bitten or -”

“Where’s Kogane?” Shiro ignores the look on Allura’s face. He knows she’s pissed.

“You promised he wouldn’t get too close.”

Before Shiro can respond, Allura (as respectfully as possible) walks back to the center of the front of the lecture hall and continues where she left off in her lecture.

Johns Hopkins Hospital - Baltimore, MD 

Keith walks through the hospital corridor under the horrible glare of its fluorescent lights. He passes through the hospital security without a second glance and rounds a corner before walking into Larmina Kent’s room. He finds her integrated into an elaborate waves of technology. All working hard to keep her alive. His eyes wander to find Lotor, fast asleep, in a chair next to her hospital bed holding her hand. Keith swallows but quietly taking a seat in an empty chair next to Lotor still watching his unconscious care for the girl they both saved. His hair is slightly disheveled and surprisingly wearing somewhat casual clothes. It’s strange how a man can still look so polished in a simple cardigan.

Keith adjusted himself in a more comfortable arrangement before closing his eyes and falling asleep.

It was roughly 20 minutes later when Lotor opened his eyes from his fake slumber. He turned and looked over at a sleeping Keith, re-cataloging every feature. Since the moment he met Keith, Lotor was captivated. His remarkable ability for delving into the minds of others coupled with a mouth that had no problem rebelling against authorities was enough to spark an interest. But the moment he stepped into Kent’s kitchen and saw Keith standing there, he was in awe. His pupils dilated as Keith stood there chest heaving spattered in the blood of Aldus Kent. It was by far the most beautiful thing Lotor had the pleasure of witnessing. He only wished he had walked in sooner to see Keith pull the trigger to create the beautiful violence that lay before him. He vowed right there as he held the bleeding neck of Larmina Kent, that he would have Keith.

Regardless of cost, he would do it.

Even if it meant at the cost of Keith’s sanity and the lives of others, he would have him.


	2. Amuse-Bouche

**** FBI Shooting Range - Quantico, VA

Keith’s wrists jerk back in a rhythmic recoil as he fires a gun without pause. He can feel the empty shells bounce off the tip of his shoes and click on to the concrete floor. Occasionally a shell would bounce off his shoulders but it wasn't enough to get his attention. The gunshots in the stalls surrounding him are a faded hum in his ears thanks to the required headphones. He is focused on his target, gaze uncomfortably focused at it. Most of the bullets don’t even hit the target. Pulling off his safety glasses and setting his pistol down. Keith is trying -and failing- to measure his breathing. He’s frustrated and confused.

As he pushes the button to bring the paper target forward to exchange for another, Keith glances up and his eyes widen in horror. In place of the paper target is Aldus Kent. Without taking his eyes off Kent, Keith immediately grabs for his gun, fumbling as he tries to reload it with shaking hands before firing as the unmoving body glides toward him menacingly with vacant dead eyes.

BAM

BAM

BAM

The bullets rip through Kent in precision but leave clean holes and no blood. Aldus Kent doesn’t stop advancing and Keith pulls the trigger as fast as he can.

BAM

BAM

BAM

BAM

BAM

BAM

BAM

BAM

Chippewa National Forest, Minnesota

Keith jerks awake as Shiro knocks on the window he was using as a temporary pillow. He glances around before hearing Shiro say “We’re here” before slowing getting out of the car. Keith takes a moment to collect himself before unbuckling the seatbelt and getting out of the car. A cold wind whips through the forest carrying dead leaves around an eerie animal-skull covered cabin.

The cabin where Aldus Kent committed his murders.

Keith takes a brief notice at all the police and FBI officers at the scene before following Shiro into the cabin. There are walls upon walls of antlers. There’s barely any trace of wall that is visible through the bramble now with the addition of FBI evidence bags and bright yellow markers. Keith pays little to no attention to the massive mature stag that is laid out on a wide wooden table. Paralyzed in motion and dead. He’s more transfixed by the horrifying cage of bones around him as he walks up the second floor. Every inch of wall, floor and ceiling is obscured by layer upon layers of antlers. His eyes immediately lock into a column of antlers that are visibly stained with blood. He turns around to get a full glimpse of the room. It feels like at any moment those antlers would grow. Like those thorn vines in Sleeping Beauty twisting and turning further caging Keith in a dark cage. Never to let him out.

Thank god his dad took him fishing when he was a kid.

Keith notices Shiro slowly walking up the stairs and entering the antler room. Surprised and horror is written all over his face.

“This could be a permanent installation in your Evil Minds museum,” Keith says slowly. He already imagines the hordes of people lining up and buying tasteless postcards to send to their relatives and friends.

“What we learn from Aldus Kent will help up catch the next one like him. There are still seven bodies still unaccounted for.”

“Yeah, well, he  _ was _ eating them.”

“Had to be some parts he wasn’t eating.”

“Not necessarily,” Keith replies as he moves his flashlight around the room to get a better view of the antlers in the back. Shiro considers the magnitude of the room and it’s easy to see how disturbed he was. There was a heavy silence between the two and Keith had a suspicion as to what Shiro was going to say next.

“Alright, what if Kent wasn’t eating alone? It’s a lot of work,” Shiro starts as he feigns interest in further looking around the antler room. “Abducting these girls, butchering them and so on. All without leaving a  _ single _ shred of evidence except for what’s in this room.”

Keith considers what Shiro said for a moment, “someone he could’ve hunted with?”

“Or someone in a coma. Who also happens be someone who he hunted with.”

Keith closes his eyes as his mind immediately reels up the image of Larmina. Comatose in her bed while hooked up to several machines all trying to keep her alive. He remembers holding her hand and deep feeling of guilt and responsibility. He breathes out of his nose. Hard. He wants to pissed. Curse at Shiro for even  _ suggesting _ it, but he knows that it’s a possibility.

“Larmina Kent is a suspect?”

“We’ve been conducting house-to-house interviews around the Kent residence and this property.”

“And?”

“Kent and his daughter spent a lot of time together. A lot of time together here. She would be the ideal bait, wouldn’t she?”

Keith turns his gaze to the floor. He tries recreating the crime and Kent’s thinking pattern but his eyes catch on something. Something that’s not supposed to be here.

“Kent killed alone.”

Keith’s tone is definitive and Shiro knows better than to continue pressing the issue. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t take note on Keith’s obvious growing attachment to Larmina Kent. Shiro should probably say something, it’s unethical not to mention probably breaking multiple rules that Shiro still has him out on the field. But Keith is his best mind he’s got and Shiro’s never been the one to not break the rules when it comes to getting the results he wants.

Shiro’s mind takes a break when he notices Keith kneeling and taking out a pair of tweezers from his pocket and leaning forward to pick up something. Holding it up to the light, Shiro can see it. A long curly strand of red hair.

Fuck.

Shiro would be willing to bet all the money he has in his bank account as to who that strand of hair belongs to.

“Someone else was here.”

> tattlecrime.com
> 
> Merla Tress
> 
> **Exclusive: In the Minnesota Shrike’s Nest: Exclusive Photos**
> 
> A glimpse into a mind of a clearly deranged serial killer. Talk about a man with an antler fetish or maybe something much more disturbing. Not much is known about the Minnesota Shrike other than his name, Aldus Kent. Why did he kill all those innocent girls? Some think that maybe he was just getting ready for the ultimate kill. Killing his own daughter. You have to admit the resemblance is striking. After all, police reports say that before he was shot and killed by an FBI agent, he successful killed his own wife and attempted to kill his own daughter. But the real -the real- question remains unanswered.
> 
> What did he do to all those girls?
> 
> Where are the bodies?

FBI Academy, Lecture Hall  - Quantico, VA

Keith peers through the window of his classroom before taking a deep breath and pushing up his glasses. He tried smoothing out the wrinkles in his cheap blue gray suit jacket but gave up. He needed a new one. Too bad he was too cheap to go out and buy one. Suits and ties weren't his thing. If only the FBI allowed flannel shirts. As he steps through the door he’s greeted with a standing ovation from his students. It takes him by surprise and clapping leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He waves them off.

“Thank you. Please stop that.”

As Keith dumps his shoulder-bag on the desk and beings to prepare to dive right into the lecture, he can hear the petering out of the applause. He silently relaxes at the thought of not having to repeat himself. Keith presses a button the provided desk to dim the lights and hear the sound of the projection screen rolling down. On the screen is a blown-up image of Hobb’s resignation letter.

“This is how I caught Aldus Kent.” Keith starts as he turns around and leans against the desk. “This is his resignation letter. Anybody see the clue?”

Keith keeps his poker face as a few hands go into the air. He ignores them and advances to the next slide.

“There isn’t one. He wrote a letter, left his home phone number but no address...Bad bookkeeping and dump luck.”

Keith glances behind him to see the slide. A blown-up photographer of the crime scene- the Kent kitchen with a dead Aldus Kent. Blood is everywhere. It’s horrific even for a FBI lecture. Keith inhales deeply as he can hear the whisper of Kent’s last words.

“See…”

It rings in his ear like the low hiss of a snake. He can feel its smooth scaled body coil around his neck like a noose. Slowly choking the life out of him. He sees Larmina Kent on the floor, struggling to breathe as the blood puddle continues to grow from underneath her. He can remember the shake of his hands and look on her face as he tries to apply pressure to the wound while cradling her head in his lap. More importantly, he remembers the feeling of blood running through his fingers like water.

“See…”

Keith’s eyes blink and he’s back in the lecture hall. He quickly clicks to go to the next slide. A picture of Aldus Kent and Larmina smiling after hunting trip. No doubt a Kodak moment that you would find used in advertising in any hunting store.

“Aldus Kent is dead but the question  _ now _ is how to stop those his story is going to inspire.”

Keith’s mind quickly flips through his catalogue of wannabe Bundy, Dahmer, Gacy, Ramirez, Zodiac, etc. etc. He takes one last look at Larmina’s smiling face before clicking to the next slide. Cassie Boyle. Splayed across like a table. Impaled on a pair of antlers of a stag.

“He’s already got one admirer. A copycat.”

Keith finishes his lecture like he always does, feigning concentration on his lecture materials while ignoring all possible situations of having to interact with his students. What surprised Keith (he even does the quick double take) is seeing Allura enter as the trainees file out of the lecture hall. So much for actively avoiding all eye-contact.

“Hi.”

“How are you, Keith?” Allura gives her signature smile. The smile that could disarm any psychopath into giving up everything they know. It’s a genuine smile that warms Keith in the chest.

“I have no idea,” Keith replies with a smile.

“That may change.” Allura starts as she walks until she’s at a comfortable distance. Friendly but not too friendly. She knows how sensitive Keith is about personal space. “I didn’t want to ambush you-”

“Is this an ambush?”

“Ambush is later.” Allura stops and quickly rephrases her response. “Immediately later. Soon to now. Whenever Shiro gets here, consider yourself ambushed.”

Keith barely notices Shiro enter (that probably speaks volumes as to how hard he’s crushing on Allura). He glances up and sees Shiro and mentally prepares for the worst.

“Well, here’s Shiro.” Keith says quietly in the slight joking manner reminiscent of the iconic scene from ‘the Shining’. He tries not to smile when he catches Allura bite her lower lip to hide a laugh.

“How was class?” Shiro asks while taking a glance around the lecture hall as the last trainee leaves.

“They applauded. It was inappropriate.” Keith replies as he walks around the desk picking up and packing his things.

“The review board begs to differ,” Shiro takes his authoritarian stance and Keith struggles to keep himself from rolling his eyes. “You’re up for a commendation and they cleared you for active return to the field.”

Keith takes the information in. He’s a weird mixed of surprised, apprehensive and...pleased?

“The question is,” Allura cuts in. “Do  _ you _ want to go back into the field?”

“I want him to go back in the field," Keith notices Allura taking a deep breath. He can tell that she's in disagreement with Shiro (which she usually is) and is trying hard to remain as professional as possible. "But I told the Board I’m recommending a psych evaluation.”

Keith immediately looks to Allura who gives an apologizing look. He swallows before adjusting his glasses.

“Are we starting now?”

“Oh no, that session won’t be with me.”

“Dr. Lotor Galran might be a better fit. Your relationship isn’t as personal but if you’d be more comfortable with Dr. Allura-”

Keith cuts Shiro off while adjusting his glasses again. “I’m not going to be comfortable with anybody in my head.”

“You’ve never killed someone before, Keith.” Allura takes a step closer and speaking much more softely than before. It’s comforting and Keith relaxes a little even though he knows what Allura is doing. Smart psychologist. “Killing someone is a deadly force encounter. It’s a lot to digest.”

“I used to work in homicide. I’ve got a good metabolism.”

“Reason you currently ‘ _ used to _ ’ work homicide was because you couldn’t stomach pulling the trigger." Keith quietly laughs to himself. Thinking back to how easy it was to pull the trigger at Kent. "You just pulled the trigger  _ ten times, _ Keith.”

Keith finally looks up at Shiro realizing what he was say. This wasn't Shiro speaking. This was Special Agent Takashi Shirogane, Head of the Behavioural Science Unit of the FBI talking. “Wait so...psych eval is  _ not _ a formality?”

“No, it’s so I can sleep at night. I asked you to get close to the Kent case and I need to know you didn’t get too close.” Keith swallows as he takes off his glasses and sets them aside in his pocket. “Now, how many times have you spent the night in Larmina Kent’ hospital room?”

That did it. Keith clenched his jaw for a moment before looking Shiro straight in the eyes.

“Therapy doesn’t work on me,” Keith replies immediately changing the subject.

“Therapy doesn’t work on you because you won’t let it.”

Pissed. Keith turns his back and finishes packing up his stuff. “I know all the tricks.”

If he was any angrier he might have broke the zipper on his shoulder bag.

“Then it’s time to  _ unlearn _ some tricks.”

He feels Allura place a hand on his shoulder. She gives him a supportive smile. “Why not have a conversation with Lotor? He was there. He knows what you went through.”

Keith thinks for a moment before grabbing his shoulder bag, not even stopping to put the strap over his shoulder, and heads for the door.

“Come on, Keith.” Keith hears Shiro say as he continues walking to the door. “I need my beauty sleep.”

Dr. Lotor Galra’s Office - Baltimore, MD

Lotor watches as Keith paces up in the loft library. His eyes watch Keith walking around the perimeter of the office while he stood down below at his desk with a prescient smile tickling the corners of his mouth. For a brief moment, he looks down at the high quality piece of stationary paper before sliding it across his desk. He knows the sound gets Keith’s attention but feigns ignorance.

“What’s that?”

“Your psychological evaluation,” Lotor replies as he looks up. “You are totally functional and more or less sane. Well done, Keith.”

That smile threatens to grow wider as he sees Keith’s face move to one of surprise and disbelief.

“Did you just  _ rubber stamp _ me?”

“Takashi Shirogane may lay his weary head to rest knowing he didn’t break you and our conversation, though unofficial, can proceed unobstructed by paperwork.”

Keith studies Lotor for a moment before continuing back to the task of pacing around the loft. There are far too many books that Keith has never seen before (or even heard of) and no doubt they’re all first editions given by their expensive high quality binding. One shelf alone probably cost more than his entire house and furniture combined. He doesn't even bother to look at the small figurines. Not doubt those are probably original and cost more than even his organs would on the black market. Keith bets that even that three piece suit (which he believe that only Lotor could pull off. Seriously, who even wears a check patterned suit? Not to mention a tie with a design pattern that reminds him of palace curtains) costs more than his entire wardrobe. 

“Shiro thinks I need therapy.”

“I’m not sure therapy will work on you,” Lotor replies as he walks so that he stands in the dead center of the room. A perfect spot to watch Keith as he paces. “Stealing into other minds has taught you how to fortify your own. Magic tricks don’t work because you know its secrets.”

“That’s what I said.”

“What you need, Keith, is a way out of dark places when Shiro send you there.”

Keith stops in his steps, surprised by the simplicity.

“The last time Shiro sent me into a dark place, I brought something back.” Keith starts to argue but is immediately astonished by Lotor’s reply.

“A surrogate daughter?”

Keith debates arguing the suggestion. He wants to but then doesn’t.

“You saved Larmina’s life but you also orphaned her. It comes with certain emotional obligations, regardless of an empathy disorder.”

“You were there,” Keith places both hands on the art deco-esque railing and leans into it. “You saved her life, do  _ you _ feel obligated?”

“Yes,” Lotor looks up with sincerity. “I feel a staggering amount of obligation. I feel responsibility and I’ve fantasized about scenarios where my actions may have allowed a different fate for her.”

Keith stares at Lotor. He studies Lotor and takes everything into consideration. He feels a sense of camaraderie. Something he doesn’t feel for a majority of people. It’s odd to feel something like this for someone he’s just barely met. Especially someone who is a psychiatrist. 

“Shiro thinks Larmina Kent might’ve helped her had kill those girls.” Keith returns to pacing, this time a little slower, as he moves the conversation to a related topic.

There’s a long moment of silence before Lotor speaks.

“How does that make you feel?”

Keith wants to smirk and make a joking remark at that question but he’s too pissed at the thought that Shiro thinks Larmina is an accomplice to her father’s crimes.

“How does it make  _ you _ feel, Dr. Lotor?” Keith raises his eyebrows as he adds a humorous touch to the question. Lotor immediately catches on and tries not to smile. Clever boy. He licks his bottom lip. It’s subtle enough that Keith doesn’t notice. Perhaps he was generous enough to let Keith have a little peak.

“I find it vulgar.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“And entirely possible.”

“That’s not what happened.” Keith scoffs as his eyes scan over the various book titles. 

“Shiro will want to ask her when she eventually wakes up or he’ll have one of us ask her for him.”

“Is this a therapy or a support group?” Keith brows furrow. He can’t figure out Lotor and it bothers him. He’d get to that moment where he thinks he’s just about figured Lotor out but then the guy immediately flips the switch and then he’s back at square one.

It’s frustrating but at the same time exciting.

“It’s whatever you need it to be, Keith.” Lotor shrugs before folding his hands behind his back. “Keith, the mirrors in your mind can reflect the best of yourself and not the worst of someone else.”

Keith considers it for a moment before walking to the ladder and slowing climbing down from the loft.

"Now," Lotor smiles as he walks to his pristine wine cabinet. "Red or white?"

FBI Shooting Range - Quantico, VA

Keith is back again at the shooting range and shoots away at his target. He is pleased that this time he was not seeing/hallucinating Kent. He is, however, less pleased with his accuracy. He was barely hitting the target. Most didn't even make it on the page. Keith sighs as he replaces the target with a brand new sheet and reloads his gun. He doesn’t noticed Lance walking down with his usual smile on his face and carefree strut.

“I’m pretty sure firearm ‘accuracy’ isn’t a prerequisite for teaching,” Lance jokes and he cocks his hip to the side while crossing his arms. Keith glances over his shoulder before going to press the button to send it down the range. Keith has had a couple run-ins with Lance McClain. While they weren't overly positive, Keith is well aware of Lance's abilities in the field. If it weren't for his witty remarks, he might have liked Lance enough to try and be friends.

“I’ve been in the field before.”

“And now you’re back in the saddle...ish.” Lance was younger by a couple years but they were in the same generation. Despite that overly flirtatious nature and sassy mouth, Lance was probably one of the best marksman Keith has ever known. And shooting wasn’t even Lance’s forte.  His knowledge in fiber analysis is scary but not as much as his ability to know the strangest facts about anything and everything. One time he talked for a full hour about his top ten death masks with Napoleon Bonaparte's death mask winning first place.

While he definitely doesn’t adhere to the FBI’s protocol and rules, Keith admires Lance’s honesty and sharp intellect.

“Ish indeed,” Keith looks back at the used target sheet. “It took me ten shots to drop Kent.”

His bullet holes are all over the place. Some didn’t even make it on the sheet.

“Pidge wanted to give you the bullets she pulled out of Kent in an acrylic case, but I told her you wouldn’t think it was funny.”

“Probably not,” Keith replies as he tosses the sheet on the small pile of used target sheets with embarrassing results. He slides his shoe across the floor to brush away the empty shell casing in a haphazard pile before picking up and fastening a new clean target sheet.

“I said she should turn them into a Newton’s cradle.” Lance smile as he wiggled his eyebrows. “Ya know, one of the those clacking swinging ball things.”

“Now that would’ve been funny,” Keith looks over his shoulder before putting on the required headphones. He fires and misses the target entirely.

“You’re a Weaver?” Lance uncrosses his arm as he takes a step closer to Keith. His eyes scan Keith's posture and can immediately tell what is wrong. “I took you for an isosceles guy.”

“I have a rotator cuff issue so I have to use the Weaver stance.” Keith assumes the position again, aware that Lance is studying him. He shoots a couple more times and misses. He can feel Lance put a hand on his right shoulder and presses down gently.

“You’re tight.” Lance moves his hands and presses on his other shoulder and on his upper back.

“I got stabbed when I was cop.”

“I got stabbed in the 3rd grade with a number 2 pencil.” Lance slowly starts adjusting Keith’s position. “Thought I was gonna get lead poisoning.”

“There’s no lead in pencil.” He shoots a look over his shoulder and is surprised how close Lance it. “Only graphite.”

“Now you tell me,” Lance dramatically rolls his eyes as he reaches around and adjusts his arms. “See if that helps with the recoil.”

Keith takes a deep breath and exhales as he raises the gun up into position and fires. The shots actually hit the target this time and weren’t as scattered as before. Keith lowered his gun when he saw Lance lean forward to press the button making the target return from the range.

“It’s better,” Keith commented as he unloaded the gun and pulled off the headphones. “You come all this way down here to teach me how to shoot?”

“No,” Lance followed Keith and removed his headphones. “Shiro sent me down to find out what you know about gardening.”

Elk Neck State Forest, MD

Keith watched as the EMT place a bagged body on a gurney and wheel it towards an ambulance from a short distance. From what brief details Lance could give him at the shooting range, there were nine bodies. Keith walked close to Shiro as they slipped under the police tape quarantining the area. Of course that didn’t stop local journalists and reporters from coming.

“Dr. Lotor gave you the ‘all clear’. Maybe therapy does work for you.”

“Therapy is an acquired taste that I have yet to acquire,” Keith replies as he steps over a rock, “but it served your purpose. I’m back in the field.”

Shiro glances at Keith for a moment before briefing him on the crime scene. “Local police found more small animal traps in the surrounding woods. They also discovered a thirty gallon drum of pesticide hidden in a hollow tree along with a rusted red childrens’ wagon.”

“Can’t have his precious crops be disturbed.” Keith prepared for a scolding comment or gaze from Shiro. He knew his tendency to slip in dark humor was not overly welcomed in the crimes scenes or during his lectures. Just another bullet point in the never ending list of “Why Keith Kogane is weird and should probably not be in the field or teaching at the FBI Academy”.

“All that’s missing is a scarecrow,” Shiro replies. He gives Keith a small smile before they approach Lance, Pidge and Hunk. Behind them the FBI CSI team is busy at work carefully unearthing the remaining bodies from their shallow graves and documenting everything before putting them into clear evidence bags (complete with labels).

“Nine bodies,” Hunk says as he stand up from one of the empty shallow graves. “All in various stages of decay and very well fertilized. Probably the best looking mushrooms I’ve seen.”

Lance is next to a grave with a still fungus-ravaged corpse inside. Its eyes, nose and mouth covered in duct tape with a semi-opaque tube coming out of the mouth. Lance reaches into the grave and palms a handful of dark soil with a gloved hand. “He buried the bodies in a high-nutrient based compost. Most likely to encourage decomposition.”

“A patient way to dispose of a body,” Pidge comments as she finishes bagging a piece of evidence. “They were definitely buried alive with the intention of keeping them that way...at least for a little while.”

“Long enough for the fungus to eat any distinguishing features and make it nearly impossible to tell how long they had been in the ground.” Hunk says as he turns to face Pidge. Keith catches Lance roll his eyes and tries to go back to look for whatever evidence he could find on the body. Pidge and Hunk had a method and it worked. Unlike Keith, they talked out the evidence and collaborated (more like debated) on theories. He’d witnessed their conversations and can see why Lance would get annoyed. But they did provide good insight given that they were both geniuses in their respective fields.

“Line and rebar were to administer intravenous fluids after burial but I’d have to do a toxicology report to see what exactly he was feeding them.”

“No restraints?” Keith cut in before Pidge could reply to Hunk and spiral down into a seemingly never-ending discussion.

“Nope,” Pidge replied. “Just dirt.”

Lance pulls a small brush from his crime kit that’s on his belt. He clears some soil from around the corpse’s nose and mouth and pulls back the duct tape to further reveal the breathing tube that jammed into its mouth and nostrils. He leans back on his heels and point to a direction. “I found the other end of the air supply that comes up over there.”

Keith turns and see a small heap umbrella balanced between a naturally split trunk of a tree. It’s not in the best condition and some of the flaps have even been torn off, mostly likely from natural causes.

“It’s not a very clean air solution which means it wasn’t a priority,” Lance says as he stands up. “He ain’t lazy.”

“No, he’s not.” Keith replies as he stares at the corpse in the grave.

“Alright let’s clear out,” Shiro calls out as he starts herding Lance, Pidge, Hunk and any remaining EMTs and CSI crew out of the clearing and back into the surrounding woods leaving Keith alone.

“Hey, you find any shiitakes?” Lance jokes as he, Pidge and Hunk start walking away from the crime scene.

“Shut up Lance.”

On the other side of the police tape line, the young three explorer scouts are with their parents all craning their necks to see more of the crime scene. Merla Tress is in the front surreptitiously snapping photos of Keith. She quickly hides her camera in her purse and slides up beside a local detective.

“Excuse me,” Merla starts softly putting up the facade of a concerned parent. “I’m one of the parents of the boys who found the bodies and I wanted to thank you for being so good with all of them.”

“Those boys were very brave,” the detective replied while keeping his eyes on Keith and the crime scene.

“Yes they are,” Merla eyes his attire and tries to make out what he was writing on his notepad. It hurt her not to roll her eyes are the illegible script. “Are you a local police detective?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Would it be an imposition to ask a few things? The boys are going to have questions and I just want to be as honest as I can with them.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

Merla takes a step closer keeping her eyes on Keith. “Can you tell me what the man is doing over there by himself?”

“That guy?” the detective glances in Keith’s direction. “He’s some kind of special consultant. Works with the FBI.”

Merla raises her eyebrow with intrigue before taking out her camera and swiftly taking a couple more pictures.

Keith takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He flexes his fingers and feels the latex fold in his palm. Glancing around the crime scene, Keith takes a deep breath before he exhales and tries focusing on his heartbeat. It starts off fast but slows as it calms down. He sees the pendulum. He sees is swinging in the darkness of his mind keeping in rhythm with his heartbeat.

_ FWUM _

_ FWUM _

_ FWUM _

The surrounding sounds all merge into one muffle hum and then fade into nothingness. Complete silence. Slowly Keith opens his eyes and watches the pendulum swing over the crime scene.

_ FWUM _

_ FWUM _

_ FWUM _

The fungus shrinks back into the ground rewinding Keith back in time before the last burial. It’s beautiful. Practically glowing and pulsing with vibrant altering colors like some demented fairytale. To any other person, the before and after along with everything in between would be horrifying. A horrendous crime illustrating the dark pervasive extents of humanity. But to Keith, it’s a grotesque artistry that leaves him breathless. And it’s not just with this crime. It’s with  _ every _ crime. The pendulum swinging again and Keith now stands in front of an empty shallow grave. Next to it is a body. The rest of the graves are covered in burlap sacks to protect the growing mushrooms from the fertilizer rich soil. Behind him is one of those bright red children wagons overflowing with moist black compost.

_ FWUM _

Keith blinks slowly and starts walking backwards towards the edge of the clearing and into the surrounding woods.

_ FWUM _

_ FWUM _

_ FWUM _

The pendulum stops mid swing and Keith breathes. Hs fingertips feel foreign along with his minds as it has perfectly tapped into the mind of the killer.

At the police line, Merla and the local police detective watch Keith’s seemingly strange process from behind the crime scene tape. The detective notices the group of boys and family members beginning to file out and head towards their respective vehicles.

“I think your family is leaving,” the detective comments not noticing how intensely Merla is studying the mysterious Keith Kogane.

“We drove separately,” Merla replies not taking her eyes off Keith.

Keith dives deeper into his imagination. He can feel the warm sunlight and the air isn’t as cold signalling that the last body was buried sometime in the summer. He picks up a shovel and digs it into the moist dark dirt. He is standing over a naked man lying on his back in a shallow open grave. Keith is talking through the ritual as he straddles the open grave and shoves an oxygen tube into the man’s mouth and nose before covering the man’s eyes and mouth with duct tape. He tethers a hand to a piece of rebar and fixes the catheter in place.

“I choose this man.” Keith says as he stands up and goes to pick up the shovel again. “I don’t bind his legs or arms as I bury him in a shallow grave. He’s alive...but he’ll never be conscious again.”

Keith shovels a load of compost from the wagon and dumps the dirt into the grave. He turns to the wagon to shovel out more dirt to throw onto the body. “He won’t know he’s dying...and I don’t need him to. This is my design.”

When Keith turns back to the grave, he stops cold. Instead of the victim it’s Aldus Kent. Keith starts to hyperventilate as he stares into those glossed over eyes as they leer at him. All sound is gone and Keith can feel himself getting caught into a vacuum unable to breath or tear his eyes away. He finally squeezes his eyes shut, praying for the hallucination to go away. He tries to steady his breathing as his jagged breaths threatens hyperventilation again. Keith opens his eyes and focuses. Looking back into the open grave he is relieved to find no Aldus Kent. Only a man’s body covered in morbidly vibrant mold and mushrooms. He breathes a sigh of relief to be alone with the dead and out of his imagination.

Keith moment of peace doesn’t last long as a fungus covered arms grab him at the ankle. He’s jolted and gasps. His body starts immediately shaking and he can’t look away as the man’s jaw slowly opens for air. White teeth sharp against the decomposing flesh and vibrant mushrooms. Keith stumbles back as Shiro, Lance, Pidge and Hunk race towards him. He can hear the EMT team yell ‘DON’T TOUCH HIM!’ as they crowd around the body and assess the situation.

Finding the nearest tree to leans against, Keith finds himself still shaken and immediately leaves to go to the only place he could think of.

Dr. Lotor Galra’s Office - Baltimore, MD

Lotor fights to keep his composure as Keith pushes the high-quality letterhead holding his psychological evaluation back towards him. It’s folded haphazardly and in one of the bottom edges there is a hint of a coffee stain.

“This  _ may _ have been premature,” Keith says slowly and softly. His eyes glance up at Lotor and tries to gauge what he’s thinking. He can feel himself slowly slipping away, it’s not enough to become a problem (well enough to make his defectiveness a bigger problem) to tell Shiro. Lotor’s reaction is enough to make him relax his guard and lessen his worry.

“What did you see?” Lotor asks as he slides the letterhead back towards Keith. “Out in the field?”

“Kent.” Oh what Lotor would give to see inside of Keith’s mind. Though he stood unmoving, there was so much chaos (such beautiful dark chaos) inside his mind that it showed on his face. It was as if Keith has reached into the mouth of a lion and lived through every second as it devoured him leaving behind only a masterpiece of all the negative emotions and thoughts in the world. At this moment, he looked like a cub. A cub so afraid of his own nature he’s not sure what to do.

“An association?”

“A hallucination. I saw him lying there in someone else’s grave.” Once again Lotor finds himself unable to not poke and prod as Keith lets down another fort. Another open door leading Lotor deeper in the mind.

“Did you tell Shiro what you saw?”

“No.” Keith makes a face that has Lotor practically purring on the inside. A look that says ‘Of course I didn’t tell Shiro you fucking moron’. Were it anyone else, Lotor would’ve already made meal plans for that rude tongue. A nice Langue de Boeuf perfectly seasons with high quality spices before cooked in a rich sauce and beautifully decorated on a pure white with gold lining Noritake plate.

But this is Keith and although he hasn’t been subjected to the worst of Shiro’s alpha-like behavior, he knows that Shiro wouldn’t take into consideration the gravity of Keith’s hallucination as long as he gets the end result he wanted.

“It’s stress,” Lotor walks around the desk purposely stepping into Keith’s personal space. It was far enough that it wasn’t intrusive but close enough to make Keith a little uneasy even if he wasn’t aware of it. “Not worth reporting. The mechanism that distinguishes conscious perceptions from internal perceptions misfired. You displaced the victim of another killer’s crime with what could arguably be considered your victim.”

“I...I don’t consider Kent my victim,” Keith furrows his brows as he shakes his head. What he felt for Kent was for a lack of better terms indifference. He doesn’t care about Kent. He doesn’t care to know more about him. Keith knew him intimately enough and he saw him as nothing but a dead fly found on a windowsill.

“What do you consider him?”

“Dead.” Keith shrugs his shoulders as he walks to take a seat. There’s something uneasy but also surprisingly comforting about how easily Lotor can get right to the core of his troubles.

“Is it hard imagining the thrill somebody else feels killing now that you’ve done it yourself?” Lotor asks as he mimics Keith and takes a seat in his chair. Although Lotor knows he is exceptionally capable of composing much more eloquent prose, nothing can describe Keith’s answer except that of a lost confused cub as he nods his head. It starts as a short unsure nod but Keith swallows and nods again. He feels the strong urge to touch but it’s far too early for Lotor to do that.

Not wanting to leave Keith so exposed, he steers the subject.

“The arms. Why did he leave them exposed?” The edges of Lotor’s lips curl upwards a little bit as Keith immediately relaxes and unconsciously mirrors his position. “To hold their hands? Feel the life leaving their body?”

Keith shakes his head. “Too esoteric for someone who took the time to bury his victims in a straight line. He’s more practical.”

“Perhaps he’s cultivating them?”

“He was keeping them alive. Feeding them fluids intravenously.” Keith likes this. He feels like he can talk to Lotor about anything. He doesn’t enjoy looking into the minds of killers and he appreciates that Lotor understands how looking affects him. Lotor seems to be the only one who understands just how much that darkness sticks to him. Like a white towel soaking up oil. You can wash that towel all you want but there will  _ always _ be traces of black left.

Not to mention Lotor’s insights not only impress him but are intellectually stimulating. Every conversation feels like exercising some underused mental muscles and sometimes Lotor makes him consider things he always believed to be true about himself. Keith has a vague idea that Lotor is very well respected within the psychiatric community. But then again so is Dr. Throk Curran and he’s a pompous idiot for a lack of better terms.

“But your farmer let his crops die...save for the one that didn’t.”

“They weren’t crops,” Keith starts slow as he tries to catch up with his mind as it recreates the killer’s thinking pattern. “They were the fertilizer. The bodies were covered in fungus.”

“Mycelium kill forests over and over, building deeper soil to grow larger and larger trees.”

“If it were just the soil...why bother keeping the victims alive?”

“The structure of a fungus mirror that of the human brain. An intricate web of connections.” Lotor sees the wheels turn in Keith’s head and knows he pushed just enough to get him thinking in the right direction.

“Maybe he admires their ability to connection the way human minds can’t…”

“Yours can,” Hannibal replies and finds it hard not to smile when Keith smiles and lets out a genuine laughs. There’s a foreign (dare he say human) feeling bubbling in his chest that makes Lotor even more captivated by Keith.

“Not  _ physically _ .”

“Is that what your farmer is looking for? Some sort of connection?” Lotor immediately senses something is off. He can feel it beyond the door to the waiting room. He doesn’t let it show on his face nor does he let Keith know. The man is paranoid enough already and while it would be interesting to see how Keith reacts, he’s also very interested in finding out just who is on the other side of that door eavesdropping on their conversation. It is nevertheless rude.

And Lotor  _ despises _ rudeness.

Once Lotor leads Keith out of the exit door he takes a moment to compose himself. He cracks his neck and walks straight to the door to the waiting room. When he opens it he catches Merla Tress scrambling to hide something in her purse. She immediately turns around and smiles as if she hasn’t done anything wrong.

“Good evening Miss Kimball,” he knows exactly who she is and what she’s here for. Lotor opens the door wider to let her in. “Please come in.”

Lotor takes to leaning against his desk as he watches Merla look around his office. While he is an avid reader, he wouldn’t call himself a fan. He prizes himself as a man of refined taste and art and there is a vulgarity to the way she writes and composes herself that Lotor finds...distasteful.

“I’ve never seen a psychiatrist before and I’m unfortunately very thorough,” Merla starts are she pretends to wander aimlessly around his office. “So you’re one of three doctors I’m interviewing. It’s more or less a bake-off”

“I’m very supportive of bake-offs.” He can see Merla watching his every movement. Obviously trying to figure out what kind of person he is and what methods to used to get him to start talking. Mostly likely to get intimate knowledge about Keith. As if Lotor would let this woman get close. She isn’t worthy enough. “It’s important you find someone you’re comfortable with.”

“I can imagine you as my therapist,” Merla says as she puts on a fake smile. Lotor has seen better acting in mediocre opera understudies. “Which is good. If I couldn’t visualize opening up emotionally, I know it’ll most likely be a problem down the road.”

“May I ask why now?”

“Would it be alright if I asked you a few questions first?” Merla quickly changes the subject.

“Of course.”

“I love that you’ve written so much on social exclusion. Since that’s why I’m here, I was wondering-”

“Are you Merla Tress?” Lotor cuts her off already bored with her game. He can tell he ripped the air right out of her throat. He tries not to smirk as he thinks this is probably one of the few times she has ever been caught off guard (or in the act).

“I’m- I’m so embarrassed.”

“You should be,” Lotor straightens his posture. “This is unethical even for a tabloid journalist.”

“Criminal justice,” Merla corrects with a sharp tone.

Rude.

“I’m afraid I must ask for your bag.”

“What?” Merla blinks.

“Your bag, please hand it over. I’d rather not have to take it from you.” Merla realizes from the tone of his voice that Lotor is not one to bluff and that he is absolutely serious. She bites the inside of her cheek and she does as instructed.

“Thank you,” Lotor takes the bag and places it by his side on the desk.

“I was recording our conversation,” Merla says as Lotor begins opening her bag and removes a recording device.

“Our conversation?”

“Yes.”

“No other?”

“No.”

Lotor knows that’s a lie. “You were very persistent about your appointment time. How did you know when Keith Kogane would be here?”

“I maybe have also recorded your session with Keith Kogane,” Merla bites harder at the inside of her cheek.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Lotor stands up still holding the device in his hand. “How did you know?”

“I can’t answer that.”

Lotor studies her. It was more trying to figure out when and how to dispose of her. He’s been itching to return to his usual theatrics. But perhaps he’ll set her aside. Maybe leave her demise to someone else. He walks over to an antique sofa and pats the cushion of the seat next to him. Beckoning her like a child being reprimanded for getting caught doing something she shouldn’t have. “Come. Sit by me.”

Merla eyes Lotor. She’s not sure if she should bolt or do exactly what he tells her to do. She chooses the latter. Slowly she takes a seat and doesn’t notice Lotor’s arm is casually propped on the back of the seat. Within snatching distance of her neck.

“Delete all the conversations you’ve recorded on this device. Doctor-patient confidentiality works both ways.”

Merla unnerved by Lotor’s penetrative gaze begrudgingly takes the recording device from his hand. Her finger hovers over the delete button.

“Delete it, please.”

Merla takes a deep breath and presses the button deleting all the recorded conversations. She looks away as she hands back the recording device to Lotor. He examines it and is satisfied that the recordings have been deleted.

“You’ve been terribly rude, Miss Tress. What’s to be done about that?”

Dr. Lotor Galra’s Dining Room - Baltimore, MD

Johann Sebastian Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No.3, BMV 1049 - I. Allergo plays softly in the background as Lotor finishes with the place setting for two at his antique beautifully crafted dining table. A nice dark sandalwood but Lotor would’ve wanted a purple heart wood but sadly the color didn’t fit with the color scheme and aesthetics of the dining room. Shiro is sitting at the table as Lotor places a loin dish elegantly presented on a plate with a red sauce. Blood red sauce.

“Loin served with a Cumberland sauce of red fruits,” Lotor says as he soundlessly sets down the plate. “Strawberries, raspberries, currants with a little bit of pomegranate.”

“What kind of loin?” Shiro asks as he stares at the plate. It’s almost too beautiful to eat.

“Pork.” Lotor replies as he takes his seat at the front of the table with his own plate of ‘pork’.

“It’s rare that I get to eat a home-cooked meal. My husband and I both work and as hard as I tried not to, I married my mother.” Shiro comments as he cuts into the loin.

“Your mother didn’t cook?”

“Oh she cooked,” Shiro laughed. “I just wished she didn’t. The only things she knew how to cook were Japanese dishes and the closest supermarket only had a single shelf of Asian products, so she had to improvise. Hard to imagine but I was a very thin as a child.”

Shiro takes a bite and immediately feels like he is transported into another plane of existence. The food tastes absolutely amazing. He takes another bite unaware of Lotor watching him.

“Next time bring your husband,” Lotor says as he picks up his glass of wine. “I’d  _ love _ to have you both for dinner.” He swirls the wine to smell the combined scents before taking a short sip. A delicious cabernet sauvignon with a little bit of merlot mixed in. A beautiful full bodied red with rich, oaky notes of coca, charcoal embers and bold espresso. Of course, Lotor had other wines that would have better complimented the dish but he had waited 5 years to open this bottle.

Plus, his more favored wine selection he kept for more worthy guests.

“I’m curious as to why Keith went back to seeing you after you signed off on him,” Shiro says after washing the last bite of loin with a swig of wine. “He was so adamant about not going to begin with.”

“I lost the stick and kept the carrot,” Lotor replies as he begins dining on his meal. Savoring each bite. For someone who was such a pig, he tasted quite exquisitely. 

“Insisting on a psychological eval for a guy like Keith Kogane is hardly a stick,” Shiro grimaces slightly before taking another swig.

“As a psychiatric professional,” Lotor sets down his utensils, “I feel duty-bound to point out that blackmailing someone into therapy tends to negate positive benefits.”

Shiro as a good swig and pretends to savor it. “This wine is delicious.”

“Cabernet from California.”

“So,” Shiro sets down his utensils and Lotor tries to hide his disapproval at the sound it makes. It was one of his finer sets of silverware. “Why did he go back?”

“I think a guy like Keith Kogane recognizes the necessity of his own support structure if he’s to go on supporting you in the field.”

“Well I think Keith knows exactly what’s going on in his head which is why he doesn’t want anyone else in there.” Shiro replies as he picks up his utensils again and resumes eating.

“Are you not accustomed to broken horses in your stable?”

“You think Keith is a broken horse?”

“I think that you  _ think  _ that Keith is a broken horse. You ever lost a horse Shiro?”

“If you’re asking as to whether or not I’ve lost someone in the field, then yes. Why?”

“I want to understand why you’re so delicate with Keith. Is it because you don’t trust him or because you’re afraid of losing another horse?”

Shiro thinks for a moment before replying, “I’ve already had my psych eval, Dr..”

Lotor smiles warmly and leans forward slightly. “Not by me. You’ve already told me about your mother. Why stop there?”

Lotor smiles as he holds up his wine glass. Shiro smiles, amused and a little bit charmed. He chuckles before raising his wine glass as well. When the glasses clink, Shiro returns to eating. Lotor takes the hint and returns to his meal as well.

FBI Headquarters - B.A.U. Examination Room

“It’s like he’s been soaked in glucose,” Hunk comments as he reads over the toxicology report. Hunk, Pidge,and Lance hover over the fungus covered body wearing the required gloves, aprons, and splash shields. Keith is watching from a distance and wears the same uniform.

“Not just that,” Hunk continues, “but a highly concentrated mixture of hardwoods, shredded newspaper and pig poop. Perfect for growing mushrooms and other fungi.”

“But it wasn’t the mushroom,” Pidge chimes in. “They all died from kidney failure.”

Lance glances back at all the other bodies. All covered by a sheet except for the most recent one. “I found dextrose in all the catheters. He probably used some kind of dialysis or peristaltic to pump fluids after the circulatory systems broke down.”

“He was force-feeding them sugar water?” Keith pushes off of the wall he was leaning up against and slowly walks towards where the group is huddled around the body.

“Mushrooms practically crave sugar water,” Hunk says as he shifts to include Keith in their small circle. Even if Keith was still keeping his distance. “Well, as much as a mushroom can crave anything.”

“Recovering alcoholics crave sugar,” Pidge adds. “Don’t take that personally.”

“Oh I’m not recovering,” Hunk jokes before patting at his round stomach. “I’m not giving up those delicious cocktails anytime soon.”

“Alcoholics aren’t the only one with compromised endocrine systems.” Keith looks around waiting to see if any of them had figured it out. There’s a long pause of silence and Keith is a little surprised they haven’t got it yet. “They all died of kidney failure? Death by diabetic ketoacidosis?”

“Did you know they were diabetic?” Lance immediately turns to Hunk. Afterall, he’s pretty much the only one that thoroughly reads the toxicology reports. Or any report to be more correct.

“They’re all diabetic,” Keith replies before Hunk can even get a word in. “He induces them into a coma and then buries them.”

Lance tries hard to suppress a smile. He loves watching Keith work. There’s something about the way his mind works that leaves Lance amazed. He knows that a majority of the people don’t really care for Keith, but for Lance, it’s like walking into his favorite bookstore. You’ll never know what you’ll find.

“Okay, so how’s he inducing a diabetic coma?” Pidge asks as she starts to clean up the work station. The case was pretty much solved so there was no need for further analysis of the body.

“He changes their medication so he has to be a doctor or a pharmacist or work somewhere where he has access to alter their prescription without anybody noticing.”

The lightbulb goes off and Lance immediately catches on. “He induces a coma, buries them and feeds them sugar-water to keep them alive long enough for the circulatory system to soak it up.”

“So he can feed the mushrooms,” Hunk points as he finally catches on as well.

“We’re gonna have to find him soon,” Pidge adds as she pushes up her glasses. “Now that we found his garden, he’ll want to grow a new one.”

They immediately go to tell Shiro their findings and start going through the national database looking for any recent missing persons who fit their victim profile. It doesn’t take them long to find what they’re looking for and immediately call up the backup team they need and head out. Shiro and Keith along with Pidge, Hunk and Lance wait and watch as a small troop, armed and dressed in black, creep in swiftly and silently moving along the outside of Big Box Pharmacy. They weave through parked cars and take up their positions before letting Shiro know that they’re cleared to start moving.

“She’s the eighth diabetic customer of this chain to disappear after filling an insulin prescription,” Shiro says as they stride through the main doors of the pharmacy like regular customers. “She’s the second to disappear from this exact location.”

“The other seven?” Keith asks as the tries to keep up with Shiro as they bee-line towards the pharmacy desk counter.

“All over the country. One pharmacist has been all over the country, too.”

“A floater.”

“He’s still logged into his workstation so hopefully, we can catch him before he floats somewhere else.” Shiro walks confidently towards the counter, with Keith immediately behind him. They’re both wearing plain clothes and Shiro takes a quick glance around to make sure all the other agents dressed as customers and cashiers are in their positions. He walks up to the counter and calmly raises his badge clear in front of him.

“Everyone,” Shiro’s voice rings loud throughout the store. “I need you to stop what you are doing and put your hands in the air!”

The pharmacists do exactly what they are told and Keith immediately knows that none of them are the killer they are looking for.

“Which one of you is Jankan Boothe?”

“I’m the manager,” one of the pharmacists speak up, “What’s happening?”

“One of your customers didn’t show up to work this morning after picking up a prescription here yesterday filled by Jankan Boothe. We have reason to believe he abducted her.”

“Boothe was just here,” the pharmacists furrowed his brows and looks back to the other pharmacists to see if any of them knew anything. Shiro raises his hand and signals the FBI agents to fan out and start searching.

“Is his car still in the parking lot?” Keith asks.

Shiro turns to Keith before looking back at the pharmacist manager. “His car?!”

After getting the information that Boothe’s car was still in the parking lot, Keith rushes in front of the other FBI agents into the parking lot. He tells the nearest agent to hand him their baton before smashing the driver side window when he spots the car. He pulls his jacket sleeve to cover his hand and reaches down to pop open the trunk. He rushes over the trunk and immediately starts coughing as it is completely filled with rich dark soil. He automatically recoils at the smell and shovels his way through the dirt and pulls out the missing woman.

“She’s here!” Keith yells and quickly goes to uncover more of the unconscious naked woman. He can hear Shiro coughing behind him also recoiling at the smell before yelling for EMTs. He has his hand against her neck finding her pulse and is relieved to know that she is still alive. Keith only lets go of the body once the EMT team gets there and take over. He watches as the woman is loaded into the ambulance by the paramedics.

“We know his name,” Shiro says to try and grab Keith’s attention. “We know where he lives. We have his car. We can catch him within 24 hours.”

Neither of them notice Pidge approach the both of them with some trepidation. “Shiro,” Pidge speaks softy. “We just checked the browser history at Boothe’s workstation…”

“Do I want to hear this?”

“No…” Pidge fidgets and there’s a grimaces in her face that Shiro immediately knows that whatever they found...it wasn’t good. “And yes...but mostly no.”

Shiro and Keith follow Pidge back into the pharmacy and they watch as Pidge brings up the internet browser to reveal a full screenshot of Keith standing in the forest at the crime scene of Boothe’s mushroom garden. Shiro immediately seethes as he reads the headline “Takes One to Know One” and the words “tattlecrime.com”. Keith looks away as he immediately know that whatever is written about him...it’s not good.

Lance’s disgust is clearly evident as he slowly reads the article, “The FBI isn’t just hunting psychopaths, they’re head-hunting them too..”

> tattlecrime.com
> 
> Merla Tress
> 
> Exclusive: It Take One to Know One
> 
> The FBI isn’t just hunting psychopaths, they’re head-hunting them, too, offering competitive pay and benefits in the hopes of using one demented mind to catch another. Sure, we’re familiar with the stereotype of the FBI profiler, swaggering onto a crime scene, fitting the pieces together like a master puzzler with his 1000 piece jigsaw. In reality, these profilers should be likened to harridan reading a cup of spent tea leaves - passing off their active imagination as incisive fact.

“Son. Of. A. Bitch!” Shiro yells as Lance gives Keith a worried look.

Motel - WV

Shiro stands outside the door fuming as two FBI agents kick open the door and tackle Merla Tress onto the bed. Her hands are immediately tied behind her back with a zip-tie before she is hauled back on her feet and forced to sit on the bed. Merla huffs an annoyed breath as she sees Shiro walk in through the door. She tosses her head back to push a stray lock of hair out of her face. “I appreciate the pageantry, Agent Shirogane, but you can’t arrest me for writing an article.”

“You entered a federal crime scene without permission.” Shiro replied in a cool tone. Though inside he would love nothing more than to see this woman behind bar.

“I was escorted by a detective.”

“Under false pretense!”

“It’s as good as permission,” Merla smirked. “And you can’t arrest me for lying.”

Shiro studies her and smiles after finding another - a much more effective- approach. “You got all that information from a local detective?”

“Lots of talk about your man, Kogane. Not to mention the rivalry of who gets the collar.” Merla watches as Shiro slowly paces the room. She’s talked her way out of messier situations. This was nothing. “A local detective looking for a pissing contest with the FBI might have some insight.”

Shiro takes out a pair of tweezers from his pocket and plucks a hair from Merla’s head. The flinch she made was a small victory. He leans down so that they are face to face and hold that single strand of red hair between them. “The unfortunate timing of your article allowed a serial killer to escape.”

“You’re blaming  _ my _ article?” Merla glances between the strand of her hair and Shiro’s eyes not sure what’s going on.

“You were in Minnesota, in the Shrike’s nest. You know how I know? It’s because you left one of these behind,” Shiro passes the tweezers and lets another FBI agent put it in an evidence bag. “You contaminated that crime scene and everywhere you go, you contaminate crime scenes. That’s obstructing justice. I can  _ indict _ you for obstructing justice.”

Merla forces a smile, trying to cover her nerves with charm. Obstructing justice is much worse than liability. She doesn’t have the bank account to settle for that in court. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.”

“You don’t write another word about Keith Kogane and I won’t have to.” Shiro didn’t take notice of the disgusted face Merla made as he started walking out of the motel room. He didn’t hold back a smile when he heard Merla make a comment of how she was still handcuffed by the zip-tie. “I’m sure you can figure a way out, Miss Tress. You’ve gotten yourself out of far worse situations.”

Johns Hopkins Hospital - Baltimore, MD

Keith could feel himself nodding off to sleep as he stares at the still comatose Larmina Kent. When staying up became too hard, Keith lay down on the cheap couch that was include in the room and made himself as comfortable as position, folding his knees to his chest. It didn’t take long for his heavy lids to shut. Sleep came easy for Keith and he was soon off in his dreams.

At first, he didn’t realize he was dreaming. He was laying on the same couch but the hospital room felt different. It was darker, colder. There were no sound, no nurses passing by, no muffled sounds of conversations. What sound Keith did hear was the slow breathing of something. Something that was coming closer. He watched the open door frame, his own heartbeat beating in his ears. There’s a faint eerie whisper beneath the silence and Keith watches an encroaching shadow gets closer and closer. He inhales sharply as he sees a raven-feather black lion stop in front of the door. It turns its head, staring at him with bright yellow eyes before slowing turning its head back forward and continue walking. Keith slowing stands up and follows the lion. He steps into the empty corridor and watches the lion turn and head down another hallway. He watched as the lights in the corridor began to flicker before everything washes over in completely darkness.

But within the darkness, Keith hears a soft whisper. It’s comforting and Keith’s worry flies away like dandelion seeds in the wind. When he opens his eyes, he sees Allura sitting on the edge of Larmina’s bed reading softly. As he begins to sit up, he notices that he’s been covered with a blanket. It brings a small smile to his face.

“You’re reading,” Keith says still tired and waiting for his mind and body to wake up completely.

“Flannery O’Conner,” Allura smiles as she looks over her shoulder to Keith. “When I was Larmina’s age I was obsessed. I even tried to raise peacocks because she raised peacocks...but they’re  _ really _ stupid birds.”

“You could be reading to a killer,” Keith replies as he leans his back against the couch.

“Innocent until proven guilty and all that,” Allura looks down and sets the book aside. She doesn’t react when Keith laszily shifts his head to side and asks if he make her nervous. “No, I’m making me nervous...I’m about to broach the subject of that ‘Takes One to Know One’ article.”

Allura smiles when she sees Keith crack a grin. Aside from having a professional curiosity (what psychiatrist wouldn’t have one with regards to Keith Kogane), she also had a deep desire to see Keith safe. If she could have it her way, she’d have the whole world leave Keith alone. The FBI, Shiro, the crime scenes and the parade of psychiatrists all itching to get even a peek into the mind of Keith Kogane.

“Did Shiro send you?”

“I sent me,” Allura replied without a second thought.

“I don’t think,” Keith starts slowly as he sit up, “We’ve ever been in a room alone together.”

“I haven’t noticed.” Allura had noticed. In fact, she deliberately made sure that she wouldn’t find herself in that situation. If alone, she wouldn’t be able to help herself from trying to psychoanalyze Keith. And she knew very well how much Keith hated it whenever someone tried poking around when they clearly weren't welcome. She knew that Keith would treat her far more kindly than other psychiatrist but nevertheless it would put a severe dent in their friendship. Keith wouldn’t trust her (or would trust her less). “Not that we’re necessarily alone now.”

“Yeah...well back to Agent Takashi Shirogane’s crime gimp.”

“It certainly creates an image,” Allura gives a sympathetic smile. “I don’t need to talk about it if you don’t-”

“No, no. we can talk about or not talk about whatever you want,” Keith shrugs. “Honestly, I was enjoying listening to you read.”

Allura thinks for a brief moment before allowing herself a sincere smile. She looks back at a sleeping Larmina before looking back at Keith. “Larmina Kent is a success for you.”

“She doesn’t feel like a success,” Keith replies. It’s soft, almost like a whisper. His mind replays that kitchen scene over and over and over again. The blood spewing from Larmina’s neck like rose petals, the feeling -overwhelming feeling- of righteousness when he shot Aldus Kent and watched him slowly fall to the ground. He remembers all the blood. The smell of it. The taste of it. How is felt as it ran between and under his fingers.

“Don’t feel sorry for yourself because you saved this girl’s life.”

“I don’t,” Keith swallows, “I don’t  _ feel _ sorry for myself at all...I feel...I feel good.”

Shiro curses underneath his breath and he quickly dials Keith Kogane’s cellphone number. As the phone is ringing, Shiro yells at the driving agent to go faster. His knees began to bounce and the Keith still isn't picking up.

_ “He was talking about people sharing the same properties of a fungus. Thoughts leaping from brain to brain. Mutating. Evolving.” Merla’s face was stained with an arterial blood stain. Her eyes looked lost, searching for something. _

_ “What does that have to do with Keith Kogane?” _

_ “He wants someone who understands him. Kogane was right. He’s looking for connections.” _

_ “What did you tell him?” _

Shiro remembers feeling the anger rise in him instantly when Merla didn’t respond. Her eyes going distant again.

_ “I told him about the Kent girl.” _

_ “Merla, what did you tell him. I need to know exactly what you said.” _

_ “Everything,” Merla finally looks up and looks at Shiro in the eyes. “He wants to help Keith Kogane connect with Larmina Kent. He’s going to bury her, Shiro.” _

Johns Hopkins Hospital - Baltimore, MD

Keith walked through the doors of the hospital just like yesterday. His feet knew exactly where to go allowing his mind to wander and his eyes to keep to the floor. His phone started buzzing in his back pocket as he stepped out of the elevator.

“Hello,” Keith answers without looking at the caller id. He can feel his expression fall and darken as he listens to what Shiro is telling him. He doesn’t really remember what was said and was more certain that he cut Shiro off as he jams his cellphone back into his back pocket and runs.  Keith sprints down the corridor towards Larmina’s room. His eyes briefly locking with every patient, nurse and doctor desperately searching for the killer. The rubber of his shoes screech as he abruptly stops in front of Larmina’s hospital room. His hand is hovering over his gun as he slowly, quietly, open the door. His chest began to pulse with shallow short breaths as he sees the room is completely empty. Keith’s mind starts to race as he back into the hallway and immediately goes to snatch the closes nurse he can find.

“Where is she?” Keith demands, “Larmina Kent. Where is she?”

“They took her for tests,” the nurse replies. Her expression a mixture of shock and confusion.

“Who took her,” Keith looks down both hallways trying to see if there was any hint as to where the killer had took Larmina. “WHO TOOK HER?”

The nurse stammers but by the time she’s able to make a full sentence, Keith is already bounding down the hall and running for the stairs in a mad dash. He runs down the stairs like a man possessed, jumps several steps as a time. He is out of breath by the time he reaches the bottom and kicks open the stairwell door. He rushes out holding his gun. It only take a second for Keith to see Jankan Boothe to raise his gun and shoot.

BAM

The bullet hits Jankan Boothe in the shoulder and the force violently propels him backwards causing him to drop his gun and hit against the wall. Keith immediately runs over and kicks the fallen gun far away from the killer’s reach.

“What were you going to do with her?” Keith asks gun in one hand pointed straight at Jankan’s face while the other is reaching behind him to check for Larmina’s pulse. He is momentarily relieved that her pulse is stable and goes back to holding his gun with both hands.

“We’ve evolved from mycelium,” Jankan grunts as he tries to sit up. “I was just reintroducing her to the concept.”

“By burying her  _ alive _ ?” Keith hisses. His fingers are so close. He can feel it. His jaw sets and clenches as he tries to keep himself from doing what he wants to do. Put a bullet between Jankan Boothe’s eyes.

“Opisthokontum, a super kingdom of animalia and fungi together. That journalist said you understood me.”

“I don’t.” Keith’s eyes darken. Oh he understood him. He could understand anyone if he put his mind to it. Something dark bloomed in Keith’s chest. He was almost disgusted by how pathetic he looked.

_ You’re about as interesting as cow manure. _

_ Why would I ever want to get to know you? _

“Well you would have. Walk into a field of mycelium and they  _ know _ you’re there. Their spores reach for you when you pass by. I know. I know who you’re reaching for. You should’ve let me plant her. You would’ve found her in a field where she could  _ finally  _ reach back.”

Keith stared down at Jankan Boothe with disgust. He almost wasn’t worth a quick death. He doesn’t look away as he hear the clamor of approaching footsteps. No doubt investigating after hearing the sound of gunfire. “You should be glad that I’m a terrible shot,” Keith spoke slowly and low enough for only Jankan to hear as he presses the emergency stop button. “I was trying to kill you.”

Dr. Lotor Galar’s Office - Baltimore, MD

Keith leans back into his chair and breathed deeply. Dr. Lotor sits opposite of him in the same exact chair.

“When you shot Jankan Boothe, who was it that you saw?”

“I didn’t see Kent,” Keith stared at Lotor. He is still baffled by how someone could pull off the suits that he wears. If he tried wearing them...actually, Keith couldn’t even imagine how he’d look if he wore one of Dr. Lotor’s suits. Probably ridiculous.

“Then it’s not Kent’s ghost that haunts you, is it?” Lotor gives a small smile as he crosses his legs. “It’s the inevitability of there being a man so bad that killing him felt good.”

“Killing Kent didn’t feel good,” Keith corrected. “It felt just.”

“Which is why you are here.” Lotor got up from his seat and made his way to an elegant dresser. Opening up the twin doors reveals selection of wines and a pair of clean wine glasses. “To prove that the sprig of zest you feel is from saving not from killing.”

“I didn’t feel a sprig of zest when I shot Jankan Boothe,” Keith stared down at his hands. There was no zest. Just...power.

“You didn’t kill Jankan Boothe.” Lotor walked back and handed Keith a glass of white wine. It was a good year. Not the best from Lotor’s collection but good enough to suit his taste.

“I thought about killing him,” Keith replied as he held the glass to nose to take a brief sniff before taking a small sip. Leave it to Dr. Lotor to have an excellent taste in wine along with everything else. God, it was as if the man sprung out of a cliche romance novel. A woman’s wet dream come to life. “I’m not entirely sure that wasn’t my intention pulling the trigger.”

“If your intention was to kill him,” Lotor mimicked Keith by taking a sip and briefly enjoying the levels of different tastes and aromas, “it’s because you understand why he did the things he did. It’s beautiful in it’s own way. Giving voice to the unmentionable.”

“I should have stuck to fixing boat motors in Louisiana,” Keith exhaled swirling the wine slowly in the glass. That was where he was happy. Fixing boats and fishing with his dad. Simple days when he never had to worry about nightmares.

“A boat engine is a machine,” Lotor leaned in cradling the glass between his hands. “A predictable problem with a simple answer. Easy to solve. You fail, there’s a paddle. Where was your paddle with Kent?”

“Aren’t  _ you  _ supposed to be my paddle.”

“I am,” Lotor smiled. “It wasn’t the act of killing that got you down, was it Keith? Did you really feel so bad because killing him felt so good?”

“I liked killing Kent.” Keith whispered. A huge weight was lifted off his shoulders. He couldn’t tell Shiro about this. Or Allura. He knew exactly what they would say and the faces they would make. But Lotor. He made him feel like he could talk about anything. Dare he say it, but Keith felt like he finally found someone (and a psychiatrist at that) that could  _ see _ him. Trust him with his darkest secrets. The horrifying nightmares he dreams, but more importantly the guilt he felt for feeling so good, so righteous in killing Kent.

“Killing must feel good to God, too. He does it all the time and are we not created in His image?” Lotor’s eyes watched Keith’s every movement. It didn’t matter how minute it was. Lotor looked for any sign that would hint as to what was going through Keith’s mind. He had some intuition but he never made a move without knowing exactly what the latter would do. And Keith was proving to be the most interesting subject.

“Depends on who you ask.” Keith muttered as he took another swig of his wine. He stared at the remaining white wine, as it glittered from the low flames of a fire. Leave it to Lotor to have a fireplace that functioned both as a source of heat and for aesthetics.

“God is terrific. He dropped a church roof over 34 of his worshippers last Wednesday night in Texas while they sang a hymn in his name.” Lotor leaned back in his chair and set aside the almost untouched glass of wine on a glass side table. He folded his hands on his lap waited to see how Keith would react.

“Did God feel  _ good _ about that?”

“He felt powerful.”


	3. Potage

Keith Kogane’s House - Wolf Trap, VR

Keith stepped out onto his porch in his pajamas which is essentially just his boxers (boxer-briefs to be exact and to be more exact those plain white ones that you can buy in cheap bundles practically almost anywhere) and a simple red shirt that is now faded to an almost pink. His hair is tousled, a clear sign that he had just woken and got out of bed. His eyes follow his pack of dogs as they bound down the stairs and towards the driveway. Living out in the middle of nowhere made dog doors impractical and Keith would rather be woken up in the middle of the night to let a dog out to do his business then find a family of raccoons raiding his kitchen in the morning. Keith silently curses himself for not putting on something more decent.

He’s not alone.

Allura steps out of her car to greet Keith’s dogs as they eagerly return the favor. She looks up and smiles at Keith as she starts walking up from the driveway up to the porch.

“Morning,” Allura smiles as she walks up the stairs.

“I didn’t hear you drive up,” Keith responds as he pretends to scratch the back of his head but really trying to get some control over his wild bedhead. He wished he had picked up his father’s habit of leaving out a couple of afghans on the front porch, but again he lived out in the middle of nowhere and it was winter. There was no way he was going to waste a good afghan and let it freeze. But an afghan would’ve been nice at this particular moment.

“Hybrid,” Allura replies as she gestures to her car. “Good car for stalking.”

“I feel compelled to go cover myself,” Keith says somewhat embarrassed that he by society’s standards standing naked. He can almost hear his father scolding him with that signature Louisiana southern drawl.  _ Boy, how many times do I have to tell ya to at least put on a robe before walking out the front door? _

“I have brothers,” Allura smiles,” well...used to have brothers.”

“I’ll go put on a robe or something,” Keith replied as he turned to walk through his front door. “Do you want a cup of coffee or tea? Also is there a reason why you’re here?”

“Coffee and Larmina Kent woke up.” Allura watched as Keith stopped in his tracks. She doesn’t know whether it is the friend part of the psychiatrist part (or maybe it’s a combination of both) that wonders what is going through Keith’s mind. She  _ knows _ that Keith is attached and that worries her.

“Well you know how to bury a lead,” Keith looks off to check on his dogs. They seem to have finished doing their morning business and have grouped off into those that are nose deep in the ground sniffing at all the new scents and those that are playing around.

“Want me to go get you a cup of coffee?” Allura asks as she briefly slips her hand in her pocket to silence her vibrating phone.

“No, I’ll go get my coat,” Keith says as he opens his front door letting his pack of dogs back in.

“Let’s go have a cup of coffee. I could really go for a nice caramel latte.” Allura loves Shiro and she cherishes the friendship that they have but  _ gods _ were there times when she would love nothing more than to smack him in the back of the head. It’s especially true when it comes to Keith Kogane. Throughout the entire drive from Keith’s place to the closest cafe, Allura would glance at Keith trying to gauge his state of mind. Even as they sit opposite from each other drinking their preferred drinks Keith’s phone vibrates and vibrates and vibrates until finally stopping.

“Is he going to keep calling?” Keith quietly asks as he looks at his phone screen. Already he had 5 missed calls from Shiro. And growing.

“Shiro wants you to go see her,” Allura replies while also taking a glance at Keith’s phone. She frowns and made a mental note to give Shiro a piece of her mind. Even though she knew he wouldn’t take what she said into consideration. Shiro’s biggest flaw is that he rarely took advice that doesn’t serve his agenda. “I agree, but I want it to be on your  _ own _ terms. I’m not concerned about what Shiro needs. I want you and Larmina to get what you both need.”

Keith smiles down at is cup of tea that is more lukewarm now than hot. He appreciates Allura and how she is unafraid of standing up to Shiro in his defense. He takes another glance down at his phone.

7 missed calls. 5 unread messages.

And growing.

“I don’t want to get in the middle of you and Shiro, but if I can be helpful to you as a buffer-”

“I like you as a buffer,” Keith interrupts. “I also like the way you rattle Shiro. He respects you too much to yell at you no matter how much he wants to.”

“And I take full advantage of that,” Allura grins as she leans forward.

Keith’s smile fades as he thinks and brings up what he’s most concerned about. “Larmina Kent doesn’t have anyone. No family and most likely no friends.”

“You can’t be her everyone,” Allura reaches over the table and places a comforting hand on his. “You don’t have to draw a line, but I think you should know  _ where _ your line is.”

“Keep my distance?” Keith looks up and watches Allura consider over what she should say. That was another thing Keith appreciates about Allura, she thinks before she speaks at least when it comes to giving advice.

“When I said what I was going to say in my head, it sounded _really_ insulting so I’ll find another way to say it.”

“Say it in the _insulting_ way.” Keith doesn’t notice that his gazed hardened and his voice dropped as he leaned further on the table. Allura noticed and while there is a part of her, a small part, that was worried (and a bit frightened) she knew that Keith didn’t mean for it to come off...threatening.

“Dogs keep promises a person can’t, Keith.”

“Wow...that  _ was _ insulting,” Keith replies as he takes a sip of his tea. “I don’t see Larmina as collecting another stray...but I get it. I can trust a dog to be a dog but I can’t trust Larmina Kent to be who I think she is.”

Allura removes her hand and takes a sip from her latte before speaking. “The first person Larmina talks to about what happened can’t be with anyone who was there when it happened. That  _ includes  _ Dr. Lotor Galran.”

“Much less the guy who killed dad,” Keith grimaces as he stares in his half empty cup. The tea was now passed lukewarm and didn’t hold its appeal anymore. It was a waste but room temperature tea (especially green tea) was something he didn’t like. “Shiro’s wrong about Larmina.”

“Let me talk and reach out to her in my own way.”

Takashi ‘Shiro’ Shirogane’s Office: Behavioral Analysis Unit Headquaters - Quantico, VR

Allura and Lotor sit across from Shiro in his office. It’s simple. Holding the most necessary furniture and appliances. Allura sits with a hard face. It’s easy to see her disapproval of Shiro’s previous actions while Lotor sits composed and indifferent. One could assume that he was assuming the ‘psychiatrist’ look, but Lotor could care less about the families of the victims. There was temptation to sink into his mind palace. A huge glorious palace filled with rooms upon rooms each serving different purposes and holding different memories.

A large portion of that glorious palace was currently under construction. A new addition for perhaps new memories to come. Nevertheless when it’s complete, it would be a masterpiece. Somethings that would make even the old masters of art weep at its divine beauty.

“I have 7 families waiting, let me rephrase,  _ demanding _ that we find whatever is left of their daughters,” Shiro starts as he folds his hands and leans forward on his desk. “Larmina Kent is the only person who might know the truth.”

“Shiro,” Allura scolds, “you can’t ask her that right now. We have to create a safe place for her first or you won’t get any answers.” Among the many things Allura specialized in, the cases she dealt with the most was family trauma. She hoped that Shiro would see reason and not barge in with all his top-alpha aura and frighten the poor thing.

“I respect your sympathy for her, Dr. Altean,” Shiro doesn’t change his tone nor his posture. An authoritative stance with eyes of indifference. Eyes that have seen too many things to take the anything at face value. “I hope one day you’ll appreciate my lack of it. The only body we found is the one Kent didn’t eat. 7 bodies. 7 girls.”

“7 sisters,” Lotor adds causing Shiro to shift his gaze from Allura to him, “in Larmina’s eyes. When she learns of her father’s crimes-”

“May already know about them.” There’s a slight twitch in Lotor’s eyes. An indication of the slight annoyance and rudeness of Shiro cutting him off. But it’s so minute that Shiro doesn’t catch it. “Her DNA is all over his slaughterhouse.”

“Shiro, do you _ really _ think Larmina helped her father kill all those girls?” Allura leans forward in her chair. She’s almost tempted to asked what happened. What happened that caused Shiro to lose all compassion and sympathy. But she knows better and keeps those thoughts to herself.

“It’s a possibility that needs to be ruled out. If she didn’t help her father, she may knows who did.”

“How was Larmina?” Lotor asks as he shifts in his chair to face Allura.

“Surprisingly practical,” Lotor can see the slight furrow of Alluras brow. A small indication that there was something more. He can see the cogs turning in her head as she goes over her observation assessments. Allura Altean was an intelligent psychiatrist. No doubt should Larmina Kent spend too much time with her, all her secrets will be known. Allura glances at Shiro before continuing.

“Suspiciously practical?”

“I would suggest, Shiro, that she can be practical without being a murderer,” Lotor comments. There is an urge to scoff at Shiro’s comment. Even perhaps an eye roll. But, of course, that would be rude. And Lotor is anything but rude.

“I think she’s hiding something.”

“It may simply be her trauma,” Lotor replies with a small shrug. It’s not trauma. Lotor knows it doesn’t have anything to do with trauma. And while it would be the gentlemanly thing to reveal what he knows, he’s much more curious to see what they will do.

“Yes but it could also be more. She has a penchant for manipulation. Withholding information to gain information. She has a tendency to demonstrate only enough emotions to prove she has them.”

“Appreciating my lack of sympathy?” Shiro raises his eyebrows slightly. It’s not done from a place of mocking but more so a gesture that solidifies that his suspicions weren’t entirely out of the blue. 

“You said it may be more than trauma yet you question her involvement in the murders her father committed?” Lotor takes a glance down to his watch. He still had plenty of time before his next appointment but there were things that he needed to do. Plans that needed to be reviewed and remade.

“What I’m  _ questioning _ is her state of mind.”

“I want Keith Kogane to talk to her,” Shiro stated taking the conversation into a different direction. Allura’s face immediately changes. A combination of shock and more or less disgust at what that could entail.

“Shiro,” Allura spoke in a tone that was similar to that of a mother reprimanding her child for getting their hand caught in the cookie jar. “ _Not yet_.”

“While I appreciate your input Dr. Altean,” Shiro only used the name ‘Dr. Altean’ when he wanted to be cordial but not polite. “You aren’t Keith’s psychiatrist. Dr. Galran is.”

“For all intents and purposes, yes, but I’m not entirely objective on this.” Lotor thought about reminding Shiro that he was in fact not officially Keith’s psychiatrists. But in this moment, reminding him would’ve been a waste of words since Shiro was clearly only focused on getting what he wants. And Lotor was never one to waste words. “Keith and I share a compassion for Larmina Kent. We saved her life.”

FBI Academy - Lecture Hall - Quantico, VR

Click

Click

Click

Click

Click

“Aldus Kent abducted and murder eight young women over an eight month period,” Keith continued with his lecture as a succession of photos of young women, all similar in appearance, flashed behind him on a large projection screen. “They each had the same hair color. Same eye color. Same age, height, weight as his daughter...Larmina.”

Click

Keith takes a brief glance at the picture showing Larmina with her father. Smiling faces that distract the dead stag held like a prize-winning vegetable. “However, there was a ninth victim who fit Larmina’s profile but was not murdered by Aldus Kent. Cassie Boyle.”

Click

A picture of Cassie Boyle, impaled on the antlers of a severed stag’s head appeared behind Keith as he leaned against the edge of provided instructor’s desk. It is a grotesque work of art. Macabre elevated to artistic masterpiece that would feel more at home displayed in the halls of renowned museums or palace galleries. Not in the open dry barren fields of Minnesota. Keith could see glimpses of the killer. But it was more like shadowy wisps through heavy fog. You knew something was there, but no idea on what it specifically was.

“The killer who did this wanted us to know he wasn’t the Minnesota Shrike.” Keith’s jaw set as he looked at the many young impressionable faces of FBI trainees. “He’s  _ better  _ than that. He is an intelligent psychopath. A sadist. He’ll probably never kill like this again. So, the question is, how do we catch him?”

Keith’s eyes flicker to the the entrance doors. He sees the reflective light of the projection screen bounce off the faces of Shiro and Dr. Lotor Galran. He can see them whispering something in hushed tones but he turns his attention back on his lecture. He is an instructor after all. “This copy cat is an avid reader of Merla Tress and tattlecrime.com. He had  _ intimate  _ knowledge of the Aldus Kent murders. He knew the motives and patterns well enough to recreate them and arguably elevate them. To art.”

If only the human body had the ability to purr. Of course, such ability would give him away or at least spark some suspicion. Agent Takashi Shirogane wasn’t entirely useless and there was a reason he is the head of the Behavioral Science Unit at the FBI. If Agent Shiro didn’t notice the slight straightening of Lotor’s posture then that was pure carelessness on his part. Lotor was absolutely brimming pride and dare he say slight arousal. No one had ever come this close to seeing him. At least seeing him this quickly. He had his psychiatrist, but of course she’s only able to see a version - a small fraction- of what lies underneath the neatly constructed and tailored, as his psychiatrist calls it, person suit. In that moment, Lotor wondered. How would Keith react when he finally figured it out? What face would he make? Or better yet, he wondered how long it would take. How long would it take for that dark beautiful dream to become reality. Keith’s birth into his becoming. Arms deep in the flesh of some unworthy sack of meat. Forearms caked in blood that it almost looks black under moonlight.

Male lions without a pride are solitary creatures.

But what would happen, if they started hunting together?

“How intimately did he know Aldus Kent?” Keith clicked on his clicker to go back to the image of Aldus Kent with his daughter Larmina. “Did he appreciate him from afar, or did he engage him? Did he ingratiate himself into Kent’s life? Did Kent know his copycat as he knew him?”

Keith took a short pause to take a sip of water. Talking for long periods of time tended to dry his mouth out and since he had an audience (Shiro and Dr. Galran) he had to be at his best performance. Couldn’t embarrass Shiro (even if he wouldn’t take offense to a dry throat). Apparently he had a husky voice when his throat was dry which exponentially upped his attractive factor according to student gossip. Of course his personality quickly doused any flames his students may have for him. No doubt if someone like Dr. Galran was teaching, the competition to get a seat in his class would be equivalent to the hunger games.

“Before Aldus Kent murdered his wife and attempted to do the same to his daughter,” Keith clicked to the next slide. A picture of Aldus Kent’s wife. Her throat slit open, lying in a dark pool of her own blood. Eyes glazed over, vacant of a soul that once lived. “He received an untraceable call, re-routed through a swatting service. I believe the as-yet unidentified caller was out copycat killer.”

Shiro glanced over to Dr. Lotor Galran before leaning over and whispering, “Thought it’d be a good idea. We need every mind on this as we can get.”

“Brilliant,” Lotor purred not even bothering to look away from Keith.

Port Haven Psychiatric Facility - Baltimore, MD

Keith walks with his hands in his pocket. If he notices how in sync he’s walking with Dr. Lotor Galran, he doesn’t make a comment or even try to change it. He notices the nurses (both female and sometimes male) taking second glances and whispering to each other. No doubt whispering about the impressionable man walking next to him. He feels like some lowly peasant walking next to royalty. Like he should be throwing rose petals to bless the floor for being graced by such an otherworldly presence. Keith takes a tentative glance and is tempted (oh is he tempted) to roll his eyes because Dr. Lotor Galran walks like he doesn’t even notice.

Keith reaches the door to Larmina Kent’s room. He can hear muffling sounds of a conversation and furrows his brows. There shouldn’t be anyone in her room. It hasn’t been cleared for visitation other than FBi personnel and Allura.

“-because he can think like them.” Keith should have known. He can recognize that disgusting head of hair anywhere. His face doesn’t even flinch when he sees her turn to briefly glance at him. Merla Tress. “Because he is insane.”

“I apologize,” Lotor interrupts, “but I don’t believe you are on the cleared lists of visitors.”

Keith ignores the two and takes a step forward. If he tried he could touch the frame at the end of the bed. “I’m special agent Keith Kogane.”

“By special agent, he means not really an agent. He didn’t pass the screening process.” Merla stands up and brushes a lock of hair off her shoulder. “Too unstable.” Merla gives a cold stare at Keith and is momentarily disappointed when he doesn’t give her the reaction she wanted.

“I must insist you leave this room,” Lotor walks up to stand next to Keith.

Merla gave a look before fishing through her purse and taking out a single business card. She turns to offer it to Larmina. “If you ever want to talk-” Keith snatches the card without saying a word. Merla doesn’t offer any more resistance and leaves the room.

“Larmina,” Keith says quietly as he hears the door close. “This Dr. Lotor Galran...do you remember us?”

It was hard to Keith to look at her. All he could see was her lying on the kitchen floor, bleeding, gasping for air with terrified eyes. He tries to focus on some part of her face that way it wasn't so obvious that he wasn’t looking at her, but as soon as he caught sight of the bandage on her throat, he goes to stare at the wall behind her. He tries not to remember. The feeling of blood slipping between his fingers as he desperately tries to stem the hemorrhage from her cut throat. Seeing Lotor kneeling beside him. Feeling his hands over his as he takes over and applies pressure to her wound.

“I remember you,” Larmina stumbles but it works to grab Keith’s attention. He feels a small glimmer of hope. Hope that he can help her. “You killed my dad.”

Well, any hope that Keith did harbor was now gone.

The weighted memory of killing Albus Kent hangs heavy in the air. Keith has no idea what to say. What could you say? “Yeah, sorry about killing you dad but he was serial killer who was also a cannibal?”

“You’ve been in bed for 3 weeks,” Dr. Lotor jumps in and Keith thanked every higher being for his presence. “Why don’t we have a walk?”

Keith and Dr. Lotor help Larmina slowing get up from the bed. Keith stays by her side the whole time. Close enough to catch her should she fall but far enough that her personal space wasn’t entirely invaded. Dr. Lotor stood on the other side. They walked slowly through the hospital and out to the hospital indoor garden. Larmina is still a little weak and leans more towards Dr. Lotor for support. Keith figures it was a given. He was after all, the guy who killed dad.

“I’m-” Keith clears his throat, “I’m sorry we couldn’t save your mother. We did everything we could, but she was already gone.”

Keith slowly leads Larmina to a bench and helps her sit down. He can see the tears threatening to spill from her eyes, but they don’t. He can feel Dr. Lotor near him as he takes a seat next to Larmina on the bench.

“I know,” Larmina replies quietly. “I saw him kill her.” Larmina looks down at her hands, clasped together neatly on her lap. “It didn’t seem real at first. He was so loving right up until the second he wasn’t. I just remember him keep telling me he was sorry and to just hold still. That he was going to make it all go away.”

“There was plenty wrong with your father, Larmina.” Keith has no idea what he’s doing. He was never the consoling type but in this moment, his brain is on auto-pilot. And the words are just spilling from his mouth. “But there’s nothing wrong with you. You said he was loving. I believe it. That’s what you brought out in him.”

Larmina turns to look at him. A mixture of sadness and horror. “That’s not all I brought out in him.”

“Did he tell you about the young women he murdered?”

Keith shoots Lotor a look while Larmina goes completely silent.

“You don’t have to answer that right now, if you don’t want to Larmina.” There’s a sigh of relief when he sees Larmina slowly nod her head. The last thing he wants is for Larmina to completely shut down or to have an episode of disassociation.

“But we will have to ask you those questions eventually,” Dr. Lotor adds. Keith wants to say something but he can’t. Dr. Lotor is a distinguished psychiatrist. It’s his job to get patients to talk about things that are uncomfortable and mental health.

“I’m going to be mess up aren’t I?” Larmina stutters. “I’m worried about nightmares.”

“Then we’ll help you with the nightmares,” Dr. Lotor replies as he places a hand on Keith’s shoulder. Keith wants to brush it off, but right now Larmina needs to feel secure. He gives a small smile and leaves the hand alone.

“There’s no such thing as getting used to what you experienced. I worry about nightmares too.”

Larmina looks shocked. Keith watches as her eyes briefly look up towards Dr. Lotor before locking back on to him. “So...killing someone...even if you have to do it, it feels that bad?”

“It’s the ugliest thing in the world,” Keith replies softly. Lotor eyes Keith. He knows. He knows that Keith isn’t telling the _whole_ truth. His eyes flicker to Larmina as she takes Keith’s words in for a short moment.

“I wanna go home,” she whispers softly.

Psychiatric Hospital - Parking Lot

Keith internally groans as he sees Merla Tress lean against the hood of Lotor’s dark midnight blue Bentley. He almost wants to growl when he sees her picking at her nails and absentmindedly kick the back of her heel against one of the tire. He doesn’t notice Lotor’s straighten his back. Nor does he see Lotor’s face as it is so close to breaking its facade. When she looks up from her nails, she spots them and quickly stands (almost respectfully). And Keith wants to roll his eyes because he knows it’s all an act. Merla puts on a fake sincere smile before extending her hand.

“Special Agent Keith Kogane, I never formally introduced myself. I’m Merla Tress.”

“Trying to salvage this joke from the mouth of madness?” Keith shoves his hands in his jacket pocket. There’s an urge in the back of his mind whispering.

_ Oh how easy it would be, to break that fragile neck. _

_ I bet I could do it with one hand. _

_ It would be so easy. _

_ Like breaking a toothpick. _

“Look,” Merla drops her act and crosses her arms, “let me apologize for my behavior in there. It was sloppy and misguided. You and I may have our own reasons for being here. But I also think we both genuinely care about what happens to Larmina.”

“You _told_ her I was insane.” If Keith didn’t notice that he was shifting his body so that is leaned closer to Lotor, then he wouldn’t say anything. He was so close that if Lotor had leaned a little forward, he could probably smell and decipher what kind of shampoo Keith was using. 

“I can un-do that.”

“So you help Larmina see me as more than her father’s killer and I help you with, what? Online ad sales?” Keith wasn’t buying her sincerity. And he certainly didn’t want to be associated with her in any way, let alone be friendly to her.

“I can un-do what I said, Mr. Kogane. But I can also make it much worse.”

“Ms. Tress,” Keith took a step forward. He noticed that brief flash of fear crossover Merla’s eyes and felt powerful. What he didn’t noticed was just how much his expression darkened. “It’s not very smart to piss off a guy who thinks about killing people for a living.”

> tattlecrimes.com
> 
> Merla Tress
> 
> **Exclusive: Another Shrike In The Nest?**
> 
> As reported before by TattleCrime, the FBI maintains jurisdiction in the case of Aldus Kent, the Minnesota Shrike. But as days turn to weeks, desperation has started to take hold amongst the investigators. An embarrassing truth is beginning to emerge. There are no new leads as to the whereabouts of the Shrike’s seven missing victims. As families await any word at all regarding their lost daughters, the case looks as though it has stalled. Toip lines are open, but they have so far yielded little to nothing. Where lies these poor young women who deserve a proper funeral?
> 
> When approached for comment on the investigation, things with special agent Keith Kogane took a surprisingly dark, and dare I say it sinister, turn. Upset at the probity of the questions as hand, Kogane threatened, “It isn’t very smart to piss off a guy who thinks about killing people for a living.” A statement like this calls into question the very mind and method of Keith Kogane and his FBI apologists. This is a man who skirted normal FBI.

“It’s not very smart to piss off a guy who thinks about killing people for a living.” Shiro sits behind his desk reading off of his computer screen. He doesn’t need to look up to know that Keith is progressively making himself smaller in the chair he’s sitting in. Dr. Lotor, on the other hand, hasn’t changed at all. Same perfect posture and a poker face that even Shiro finds himself incapable of cracking. 

“Know what else isn’t very smart?” Shiro addresses as he looks up to see a silent Keith sitting across from him. Dr. Lotor and Dr. Alana sit on either side of Keith mutually concerned. He then turns to look at Dr. Lotor, “You were there with him, Dr. Lotor. And you let those words come from his mouth.”

Shiro’s eyes catch a small smirk on Dr. Lotor’s lips as he gracefully crosses his legs and neatly folds his hands on top. “I trust Keith to speak for himself.”

Shiro scoffs as he shuts his computer screen to sleep mode. “Evidently, you shouldn’t.” He didn’t even to _think_ about the level of clean up he’ll have to do. While the merits of Merla Tress and her tabloid website weren’t anything severe, Shiro would still have to talk to his superiors about it. The image of the FBI was everything and if the FBI didn’t have the people’s confidence, then he’d be out of a job.

“I’m just glad the story wasn’t about Larmina,” Allura jumps in to try and diffuse the atmosphere. The look Shiro gave her said the opposite.

“Then it’s victory,” Shiro pulls his chair closer to his desk as he returns to looking at Keith. Keith takes a deep breath as continues to stare at the carpet in front of his feet. He knows when to open his mouth and when to keep it shut. This was one of those moments when to keep it shut. “Larmina Kent wants to go home. Then let’s take her home.”

“What Larmina wants and what she needs are two different things,” Allura replies as she shifts in her seat. Uncrossing and crossing her legs. “Taking her out of a controlled environment would be reckless.”

Lotor and Keith sit quietly both observing the conversation between Shiro and Allura in similar but also quite different mindsets. Lotor brings a slightly closed hands to his face. Something that might give off the appearance of pondering but was, more or less, a device for Lotor to keep himself from smiling (or at least hide his smiling). It was just too easy. Too easy to say the things to get Shiro to respond and act the way he wanted. Keith, on the other hand, had his eyes glued to the carpet. He knew where this conversation was going to go and no matter what he or Allura or Lotor say, Shiro was going to do what Shiro wants to do. Sure he could add his two cents, but it was becoming more apparent as the conversation progressed that it would be wasted words.

“You said she was practical, Allura.”

“You take her home, out of a controlled environment Shiro and she may experience intense emotions, respond aggressively or reenact some aspect of the traumatic event without even realizing it.”

“Where do you weigh in this Dr. Galran?” Shiro looks to the other psychiatrist hoping for a different second opinion. Preferably one that best served his agenda. That didn’t mean that Shiro didn’t care about what happened to Larmina Kent. He did feel sorry for her and would continue to if all the evidence proved the opposite of what his gut was telling him. At this point, he just wanted to see this case closed. Find something to give for the other families and to see this whole mess over and done with.

“Dr. Altean is right,” Lotor finally speaking briefly glancing at Allura. “However, there is a scenario where revisiting the trauma could perhaps help Larmina. It could help her heal and prevent denial.”

Allura bites her bottom lip as she shakes her head. Yes, that was a possibility but Allura wasn’t confident that Larmina was in a stable enough state where the scenario that Lotor suggested would happen. She looks over at Keith and for a moment her chest pains. His head down staring at the floor. His entire posture screamed that he didn’t want to be in the room. 

“We have a difference of opinion,” Shiro nods, “therefore I’m going to choose the opinion that best serves my agenda.”

Allura finally had enough. Uncrossing her legs she sat forward in her seat, her disapproval clear on her face. “Shiro, Keith killed her father to save her life. If she sees Keith as her savior and he doesn’t meet her expectations, she could transfer the emotions she feels towards her father onto him.”

“He’ll deal with it,” Shiro replies without a second thought. “What’s more important is I want to know if Keith’s right about our copycat.”

It was only then that Keith looked up from his shoes to look at Shiro. He didn’t break eye contact even as Dr. Lotor added, “That the copycat called the Kent house before the murders?”

“Regardless,” Allura cuts in before Keith could even open his mouth (not that he was going to), “we have no way of knowing what’s waiting for her when she goes home.”

Kent Residence - Bloomington, MN

Keith briefly glances over his shoulder as he unbuckles his seatbelt to look at Larmina before exiting the car. The car ride was relatively quiet. Dr. Lotor drove with Larmina and Allura sitting in the back. Keith usually wasn’t one that enjoyed listening to classical music, but for some reason he didn’t mind at all during the trip. In fact, he kind of liked it. Furthermore, he wasn’t surprised that classical music was the only type of music Dr. Lotor had in the expensive rental car (who even borrows an expensive rental car). Keith waits until Allura and Larmina have stepped out before getting out of the car himself. He’s not surprised to see the world ‘cannibals’ graffitied in spray paint on not just the garage door, but on the front door as well.

Keith keeps a distance as he watches Larmina slowly step to the front door. Allura, Lotor and Keith all look on as Larmina stares at the faded rust colored stain on the front steps. A mark to where her mother died. Keith catches up to where Larmina stands, eyes brimming with tears but not overflowing.

“Is this where my mom died?” Larmina asks quietly. Keith slowly walks up to the front steps somewhat unaware that both Allura and Lotor were watching him.

“Yes,” Keith replied as he took one step closer to stand where Larmina was.

“I was sort of expecting a body outline in chalk or tape,” Larmina gives a quiet laugh as she tries to hide a sniff. “You know, like in all those crime tv shows.”

“They only do that if you’re still alive and taken to the hospital before they finish the crime scene.” Keith replies slowly as he’s watching for any hint that Larmina might have an episode. He watches Larmina linger over the words before softly saying “goodbye mother,” and making her way to open the front door.

The door opens to a darkened space. There were evidence boxes stacked on evidence boxes. Keith stays behind and watches Larmina enter the house followed by Allura. She gives Keith a soft smile before walking through the front door. He feels a light touch on the curve of his spine and looks up to see Dr. Lotor (in another fancy three piece suit with an equally fancy looking coat).

“Is there something wrong Keith?”

Keith shakes his head and walks with Dr. Lotor through the front door. They watch silently as Larmina slowly walks through the house taking in everything. The rooms are more or less clean. Scrubbed thoroughly by the cleaners. When they got to the kitchen, Keith stopped briefly at the doorway before feeling Dr. Lotor’s hand on his back again.

“Whenever you’re ready, Keith,” Dr. Lotor spoke in a soft reassuring voice only for Keith to hear. “Know that you have every right to leave if you don’t feel comfortable.”

“I’m fine,” Keith looks up at Dr. Lotor. He feels slightly bad about his tone when he sees that Dr. Lotor was being sincere. “Thank you.”

“If you ever want to go,” Allura says as she walks closer to Larmina, “you just have to say so and we’ll go.”

“Go where?” Larmina replies. “Back to the hospital?”

The manner in which Larmina replied sent Allura back for a little bit. There’s a small voice in the back of her mind setting off alarms. Alarms that were telling her to be cautious. But Allura brushes it off as simply a girl on edge because she’s put in an overwhelming situation. She’s seen and experience it before with previous patients. It wasn’t anything unusual. “For now.”

Allura hangs back and stands next to Lotor allowing Keith to follow Larmina through the kitchen. He keeps his distance but his eyes never leave Larmina as she looks around. She notices all the family pictures on the refrigerator have been turned around.

“They turned all the pictures over.”

“Crime scene cleaners will do that,” Allura replies. “It’s to keep them from being accidentally damaged from the cleaning supplies they use.”

Allura watches with a critical eye as Larmina continues to glance around the kitchen. She glides her fingertips on the clean countertop before commenting, “they did a really good job,” before glancing down on the floor and asking “is that where all my blood was?”

“You do this all the time?” Keith looked up at Larmina. Initially he was caught off guard. Not at all prepared for someone to ask him point blank. “Go places and think about killing people?”

“Too often,” Keith replies slowly. He takes a quick glance in the direction where Allura and Dr. Lotor are standing before looking back at Larmina.

“So you pretended to be my dad?”

Keith swallows before nodding. “And people like your dad.”

“What did that feel like?” Larmina takes a small step forward. “To be him?”

“If feels like,” Keith swallows as he takes a small step back. He wants to leave. Every cell in his body was screaming to bolt out the kitchen and out of the house. To close the door -metaphorically and physically- and walk away. To walk away from it all. To never have to enter the mind of Aldus Kent ever again. To never hear his whispers in the back of his mind.

But the look in Larmina’s eyes keeps him where he’s standing. Those big pleading eyes. He can see the slight tremble in her hand and guesses that she, just like him, is doing everything in her power to keep her from following her instincts.

“It feels like I’m talking his shadow suspended on dust.” His voice is soft and for a brief second, Keith’s eyes dart to the corner where Aldus Kent’s body last lay. He doesn’t even have to try to see it there in that corner. Body limp with vacant eyes. Blood slowly flowing out of each bullet entry like thin rivers all merging to the expanding puddle of blood surrounding the lifeless body.

“You think you knew him?”

“I tried to know him,” Keith nods. Oh did he try. It had been awhile since he’d been in the field. He pretty much had forgotten how severe the aftereffects were. There’s a part of his mind that wishes he was back in Quantico lecturing. But another part of his mind purrs at the revival. Revival of walking into the crime scene and into the mind of a killer. To be the first to put the puzzle pieces together and reveal the person behind crime. “Sometimes I think I still try.”

“Even after you killed him?”

“Maybe it’s because I killed him.”

Larmina studies Keith. She can see it his face and realizes how difficult this is for him. It’s difficult for her too. Stepping into the kitchen was perhaps the moment that things solidified for Larmina. That her parents were dead. That she was all alone. “No wonder you have nightmares.”

Keith looks to the floor and swallows slightly aware that Larmina has turned to lean against the kitchen countertop. Instead of looking at Larmina, Keith chooses to look out the kitchen window. He stares off at the backyard that is cut by a small stream that extends to a sparse wooden area. Keith takes a moment to glance back at Dr. Lotor and Allura for permission to continue. Allura gives a reassuring smile while Dr. Lotor gives a short nod. Keith clears his throat and scratches the back of his head. “The attacks on you and your mother were different. Desperate. Your dad knew he was out of time. Someone told him we were coming.”

This causes Larmina to turn and look at Keith.

“The man on the phone?”

“It was a blocked call. Did you recognize his voice.”

“I’ve never heard it before.” Larmina slowly shakes her head. She makes a small, almost imperceptible glance at Lotor.

But Lotor catches it. He wanted to smile. It was a perfectly executed lie. It only solidified his assumptions about Larmina Kent. Of course he didn’t need such gesture to know his assumptions were right. But it’s always nice to have evidence to back up a hypothesis. 

“Was there anybody new in your father’s life?,” Allura asked. “Someone you met or someone he talked about?”

Larmina swallows as she shakes her head.

“Larmina, he may have been contacted by another serial killer. A copycat.”

“The one who’s still out there?”

Outside the house, Keith, Allura and Larmina are busy scrubbing away the graffiti with soap and brush. Keith gives a soft ‘thank you’ as Dr. Lotor delivers a bucket of soapy water. An extent of his hard labor. God forbid he get any soap or graffiti residue on his suit.

“Can you catch somebody’s crazy?” Larmina asks as she desperately scrubs away the large letters.

“Folie a deux,” Allura replies as she busies herself as well. “It’s a French psychiatric term. ‘Madness shared by two.’”

As Keith goes to clean his brush in the bucket of soapy water that Dr. Lotor had recently delivered, his breathing and heartbeat grows deafening in his ears as he looks up and stares at the front door. His head begins to shake as he suddenly sees the front door burst open with Mrs. Kent, bleeding and wheezing. She’s shoved onto the doorstep by Aldus Kent. Clothes stained with fresh blood who slams the door behind her. He can feel his heartbeat beating in his ears as he stares at Mrs. Kent bleeding out on the doorstep. In a grotesque way, it was almost beautiful. To see the bright crimson red mixing and complimenting the autumn leaves that had fallen making a blanket of yellows and oranges and red.

“Keith?” Keith snaps back to reality and looks up at Dr. Lotor who had brought another bucket of soapy water to replace the one that had water too dirty to prove useful. “Is everything alright?”

Keith nods as he finishes cleaning his brush and goes back to scrubbing the walls clean.

“One cannot be delusional,” Dr. Lotor adds as he picks up the bucket of dirty soap water. “If the belief in question is accepted as ordinary by other in that person’s culture or subculture. Or family.”

Larmina contemplates for a moment before going back to scrubbing. “My dad didn’t seem delusional. He was a perfectionist. After he skinned a deer, he would pluck out loose hairs. Most people would use a torch but Dad would remove all the hair by hand. He wanted to make sure he got every one of them. It would sometimes drive my mom crazy the hours he would spend in the cabin.”

“Your dad left almost no evidence,” Keith says as he almost about done scrubbing away one letter.

“Is that why you let me come home?” Larmina looks first at Keith before turning to look at Allura and then Lotor. “To find evidence?”

“It was one of many considerations,” Dr. Lotor replies.

“Are we going to re-enact the crime?” Larmina asks to Keith and Allura. 

She turns to Keith, “You can be my dad.”

She turns to Allura, “You can be my mom.”

She turns to Lotor, “And you be the man on the phone.”

Uncharacteristically, Lotor is caught off guard. More so by Larmina’s steely nonchalant stare that followed. He can feel his grip harden on the bucket he was holding but keeps a straight face.

“Larmina,” Allura steps in and takes a brief glance at Lotor before looking at Larmina. “We wanted you to come home to help you leave home behind.”

Larmina looks down at her brush and shrugs as she plays with the bristles between her fingers not caring that she’s getting the black residue on her fingertips. “You’re not going to find any of those girls.”

“What makes you say that?” Keith asks as he walks over to where Dr. Lotor is to place his brush in the bucket he was holding.

“He’d honor every part of them,” Larmina replies as she goes back to scrubbing. “He used to make plumbing putter out of elk bones. At least that’s what he told us. Whatever bones were left of those girls are probably holding pipes together.”

“Where did he makes this putty, Larmina?” Lotor asked. He kept his eyes on Keith as the latter started to stare off. He wondered what was going on in that beautiful mind. 

“At the cabin,” Larmina replies. “I can show you tomorrow.”

“Larmina…” Allura speaks catching everyone’s attention. “There’s someone here.”

They all turn to find a girl standing in the driveway. About Larmina’s age and striking similar appearance. Same height. Same eye color. Same hair color. Same...everything. She gives a small wave as she says, “Hey Larmina.”

Allura, Lotor and Keith let Larmina walk off with her friend as they finish up scrubbing off the graffiti. Keith shrugs off his jacket and sets it aside as he picks up his brush to start brushing again. Lotor goes to dump the dirty water into a nearby bush and walks back into the house to refill the bucket. While in the kitchen he sees Larmina and her friend, Marissa, walking together in the backyard. They seem deep in conversation unaware of an approaching man coming out the forest and walking towards them. He’s too far for either of the girls to notice and waits for a moment.

To tell or not to tell. 

When the bucket it filled, Lotor shuts off the faucet and takes one more look before carrying off the bucket as if he saw nothing. He could tell the man was not a threat. No doubt a family member of one the murdered girls coming to harass. When Lotor walks out through the front door, he can hear Marissa yell, “Piss off!”

This catches both Allura’s and Keith’s attention. They both drop their brushes as they start walking to the other side of the house. Lotor sets down the bucket. He stops Allura and asks her to call Shiro. It doesn’t take long for Lotor to catch up to Keith. They get there soon enough to see the man run into the woods.

“Who was that?” Lotor asks.

“Somebody’s brother,” Larmina replies. Her eyes glance behind him making Lotor turn to see Allura, on her phone, and a woman in her early 40s running up to the girls.

“Marissa,” the woman sternly calls out. “Come home.”

“No,” Marissa snaps back.

“Come  _ home _ ,” the mother asks again as she crosses her arms.

“Can you stop being such a bitch,” Marissa snaps again. Lotor studies Marissa’s rude behavior and frowns. He can clearly see the distraught and embarrassment in the mother’s face. Clearly this isn’t new behavior, but nevertheless it’s evident how much it hurts the mother. 

Rude.

Very rude.

Lotor gives one final look at Marissa as she stomps away following her mother before joining Keith in searching through the forest for the unknown boy. Lotor knows the boy is long gone but plays up the facade. Keith stumbles a bit as he walks towards Lotor.

“He’s gone,” Keith mutters as he places his hands on his hip. Lotor’s eyes fall on to a bloodied rock on the embankment near the stream that creates a natural border between the forest and the Kent property. As he turns to look at Keith, Lotor pushes his foot inconspicuously kicking a few dead leaves to cover the stone.

It would come in handy later.

“You’ve never seen that man before?” Keith asks as he walks to Larmina. Larmina shakes her head. “Well let’s go back to the hotel and we’ll visit the cabin tomorrow.”

The next thing Keith sees is his home. There’s an eerie moment of silence and Keith blinks several times trying to figure out how he got home. The last thing he remembers was escorting Larmina back to her hotel room with Dr. Lotor and then heading to the motel that was nearby. He can hear his heartbeat humming faintly in his ear and then a soft crunching of leaves indicating that Keith is not alone.

Slowly he turn and he sees it.

A black lion.

It walks quietly through the meadow towards Keith. Keith holds his breath as he watches and takes in the surreal vision of the magnificent beast. It is terrifying but so beautiful. Keith finds the courage to breath again when the black lion stops right in front of him and watches. He can see light shine and reflect small shimmering flecks in the golden eyes of the lion. In one blink, Keith finds himself holding Larmina with a knife against her throat.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Keith whispers against Larmina’s head. He can feel her shaking. “Please just hold still. Please. I’m going to make it all go away.”

Keith takes on glance at the black lion before pulling his arm and cutting Larmina’s throat. Arterial spray flies through the air and sprinkles onto the dying grass and fallen leaves in large drops. Keith doesn’t take his eyes off the black lion as it slowly hunches down before bolting back through the meadow. He is startled awake by the blaring sound of the motel furnished alarm clock. Keith feels his entire body shake and tries to steady his breathing. He is drenched in sweat and turns off the alarm. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Keith runs his hands through his drenched hair and tries not to cry. The feeling of knife and spattering of blood linger on his hands. He peels off his wet shirt and shuffles to the curtains to let a blast of daylight into the dark room.

He wants to call Dr. Lotor. But at the same time, he doesn’t want to bother the man nor does he want to cause any more worry on his behalf. It was just a nightmare.

Nothing he hasn’t experienced before.

It was only a nightmare.

Kent Hunting Cabin - Bloomington, MN

Keith sits next to Dr. Lotor as he drives the expensive rental car down the driveway following two local police cars pull into the front of the cabin. Keith waits for a moment to collect himself before getting out of the car. He, Larmina, Allura and Dr. Lotor wait as a local detective and two police officers remove the crime scene tape that was obstructing the door before opening the cabin allowing for the group to enter. Keith, Allura and Dr. Lotor give Larmina space as she slowly walks around the first floor of the cabin.

“He cleaned everything.” Larmina says slowly as she looks around the empty cabin. “He said he was afraid of germs but I guess he was just afraid of getting caught.”

“Larmina,” Keith clears his throat and briefly watches Dr. Lotor as he closes the cabin door. “Are you sure no one else ever came up here with your dad?”

Larmina slowly shakes her head. “He made everything by himself. Plumbing putty, glue, butter. He sold the pelts on ebay or in town. He made pillows. Carved knives out of leg bones. No parts went to waste. Otherwise it was murder.”

There’s a long pause and Keith can hear Larmina’s breathing start to quicken. She turns to Allura, Lotor and looks right at Keith. “He was feeding them to us, wasn’t he?”

Lotor looks over to Keith as he folds his hands neatly in front of him. “Yes, it’s very likely that he was feeding them to you and your mother.”

Lotor keeps a critical eye on Larmina. While her acting is quite extraordinary. But it is nevertheless overdone. His eyes briefly glance up to the ceiling and patiently waits.

“Before he cut my throat,” Larmina crosses to the gutting and skinning table, “he told me he killed those girls so he wouldn’t have to kill me.”

“You’re not responsible for anything your father did, Larmina.” Allura steps in to provide some comfort.

“If he would’ve just killed me. None of those girls would be dead.”

Larmina blinks several times as she feels something fall on her forehead. A single drop of blood falls from the ceiling onto her cheek. As Larmina wipes it off with her fingertips, she stares at it for a brief moment before glancing up. Keith makes a motion for them to stay while he goes up the stairs to see what is on the second floor. Keith has one hand on the handle of his gun as he slowly walks up the stairs. His eyes widen and his hand moves to grabs his phone out of his pocket.

“I need ERT at the Kent Cabin,” Keith says as he pulls out a clean handkerchief. There mounted on a pair of antler is a young woman. Naked and impaled. Her head hangs curtaining her identity with her long dark brown hair. Blood is slowly streaming down her body and creating an ever widening puddle under her dangling feet. She is positioned like Christ and in Keith’s eyes it is both terrifying and sublime. Slowly, Keith pushes back the head using his handkerchief as a barrier, as to not contaminate the evidence.

It’s Marissa.

He hears running up the stairs and Larmina’s scream as her eyes go wide, realizing what has happened.

Allura stays with Larmina as she leans against a police car outside the cabin. She tries to comfort the distraught girl. Police cars and officers are everywhere. Crime scene investigators are scattered around moving in and out of the cabin photographing everything and anything. An FBI SUV barrels down the dirt road and Shiro is out of the car before the it comes to a complete stop. He makes a brief stop in front of Allura to check on the state of Larmina before walking into the cabin.

Keith stands in front of the dead Marissa trying to process the evidence. Dr. Lotor stands next to him and watches as Keith examines Marissa’s body for any hint as to who did this to her.

“Do you think she knew him?”

“Her killer?”

Keith shakes his head. “Larmina. Do you think she knew the guy down by the stream?”

“Somebody’s brother?”

“Not _somebody_ ,” Keith notices Marissa’s swollen lip. “She said he asked her if she helped her dad take his sister’s lungs while she was still alive.”

“The young woman on the stage head.”

“Cassie Boyle. She had an older brother. Nicholas.” Keith takes a small step back and turns his body to face Dr. Lotor. “But Aldus Kent didn’t kill Cassie Boyle.”

“I know,” Lotor replies. He pauses to admire the handiwork of Marissa’s killer. “Aldus Kent would have honored every part of her.”

Keith wanted to ask Dr. Lotor more about his thoughts on the copycat but is cut short by Shiro climbing up the stairs already frustrated.

“You bring Larmina Kent back to Minnesota to find out if she had anything to do with her father’s murders and another girl dies.”

Keith tries to ignore Shiro’s frustrations and busies himself with putting on gloves to do some forensic investigation. That swollen lip was bothering him. Keith fishes out a clean plastic tool and levers it to open Marissa’s jaw wide. Holding a small compact LED flashlight in the same hand, he shines it into her mouth. He doesn’t notice Dr. Lotor leaning close to look over his shoulder as he investigates.

“He scraped his knuckle on her teeth. There’s foreign tissue and what could possibly trace amounts of blood.”

“You said this copycat was an intelligent psychopath. There’d be no traceable motive. No patterns. He wouldn’t kill this way again, you said.”

Keith can tell that Shiro was growing even more frustrated. He was getting frustrated as well. He wanted this chapter over. But with each step into the case, Keith feels as if he is falling deeper into the rabbit hole.

“I may have been wrong about that.”

“Yes because Aldus Kent never struck his victims. So why would the copycat do it?”

“I think he was provoked,” Lotor answers as he continues to watch Keith look for any more forensic evidence. “I believe that Nicholas Boyle murdered this girl. And his own sister.”

“With or without Larmina Kent?”

“Without,” Keith replies immediately. While he didn’t think it was Nicholas Boyle who murdered Marissa. He did appreciate Dr. Lotor for stepping in and more or less helping him try to convince Shiro that Larmina was not involved.

“Don’t think she knows him,” Shiro walks further into the antler room. “Or don’t _want_ to think she knows him?”

Unconsciously, Keith turns his head in the direction of where Dr. Lotor was standing as Shiro walks to stand right next to him. “She said she didn’t know him,” Keith replies softly.

“Dr. Altean said that Larmina has a penchant for manipulation. Is she manipulating you, Keith?”

“Agent Shirogane,” Lotor steps in. It’s a warning. A generous warning.

“Look, he said he was wrong about the copycat killer. I just want to know what else he’s _wrong_ about.”

“Whoever killed the girl in the field, killed this girl. I’m right about that. He knew exactly how to mount the body. Wound patterns are almost identical to Cassie Boyle. The same design...same ... _humiliation_.”

“Larmina Kent isn’t a killer,” Lotor add. “But she may be a target of one.”

Shiro takes one final look at the dead body and Keith before straightening his back. “Dr. Galran,  I think it’s time for Larmina Kent to leave home permanently. Would be kind enough to collect Larmina and all her belongings and escort her out of Minnesota.”

Lotor gives a soft pat on Keith’s back as he passes the latter and gracefully walks down the stairs. Keith makes a move to follow but is cut off by Shiro. “Not you, Keith. I want you here.”

Kent Residence - Bloomington, MN

Lotor makes occasional looks through the viewfinder to watch Larmina. The reflection of the police lights flicker and dance across the windows as Lotor drives up through the police barricade and into the unobstructed driveway. The police barricade is immediately reformed after the car pulls through keeping out the hoard of reporters and news vans. Lotor and Allura escort Larmina walk toward the house while their eyes keep watch at the police line. Allura looks away but Lotor keeps watch and catches Marissa’s mother push her way through the crowd. Like a paternal shield, Lotor eases Larmina toward Allura and steps to intercept Marissa’s mother. He bars her path, gripping her arms -soft but firm- as she screams at Larmina.

Larmina stumbles as she’s unsure as to whether she should approach Marissa’s mother to comfort her or continue walking to the safety of her house. Marissa’s mother is extremely wracked with grief that she can barely stand anymore. A policeman arrives and Lotor hands her to the policeman to escort back to the other side of the police line.

He spots Merla Tress step out from the shadows near the garage. A policeman immediately grabs her by the elbow to usher her away from Larmina and the house.

“Ms. Tress, you’re on the wrong side of the police line,” Lotor says as he briskly walks to shield Larmina.

“I’ve been covering the Minnesota Shrike long before you got involved.” Merla snaps as she tries to get free from the policeman. “I want to help you tell your story, Larmina. You need me now more than ever.”

“I want to talk to her,” Larmina says to Allura as the latter continues to gently push her towards the house.

“No, you don’t.” Allura replies as she signals Lotor to make sure Merla Tress gets to the other side of the police line and stays there.

“I’m not the only one lurking about the Kent residence peeking into windows,” Merla Tress comments as she walks through the police line. “You should really monitor those police lines more carefully.”

Lotor briefly stops the policeman causing Merla Tress to turn to face him. “Have you seen a young man? Mid-20s, ginger hair?”

There’s a small quirk in Merla’s lips that gives Lotor the information he needs. He really could care less what she said. Besides, he can pretty much guess what she’s going to say.

“I’ll tell you if I saw him if you tell me why it’s important.”

Lotor gives a small smile. 

How predictable.

When Lotor returns, Allura tells him that she stayed outside just to make sure no one else was around who shouldn’t be. As they enter through the front door, Allura calls out for Larmina. Lotor looks around and takes note of how quiet the house is. Before Allura can notice, Lotor sees a shell-shocked Larmina. Her hands coated in blood as she slowly walks up the stairs. He acts quickly.

WHAM

Lotor palms the side of Allura’s head from behind, slamming her into the wall in one swift move. Allura is immediately knocked out, collapsing into Lotor’s arms. He gracefully catches her and gently lies her on the carpet floor. Larmina stops and is stunned by Lotor’s sudden brutality.

“She’ll be alright,” Lotor reassures her as he stands up. He briefly straightens his suit. “Now, show me what happened.”

Lotor cautiously follows Larmina to find the disemboweled corpse of Nicholas Boyle slumped on the floor. The hunting knife used to kill him lay next to his body. Larmina doesn’t weep. She doesn’t even appear victimized or broken. She simply stares. Lotor squats close enough to get a better look at the body but far enough that the pool around the body doesn’t even have a chance to reach his shoes.

“He was going to kill me,” Larmina says slowly as she looks down at her hands.

“Was he?” Lotor looks up at Larmina before looking back down at the body. “This isn’t self-defense Larmina. You butchered him.”

“I...I didn’t.”

“They will see what you did and they will see you as an accessory to the crimes of your father.” Lotor stands up. Larmina shakes her head. Lotor thinks over, redesigning his plan. “I can help you, if you ask me to. At great risk to my career and my life. You have a choice. You can tell them you were defending yourself when you gutted this man...or we can hide the body.”

Allura is sitting in the back of an ambulance. The side of her head is bandaged. Keith sits on the bench across from her. Shiro stands just outside the doors.  “I don’t remember anything,” Allura says as she pulls her hair to one side. “Maybe a blur out of the corner of my eye and then a big fat cut to black.”

“Nicholas Boyle attacked you. Attacked Larmina,” Shiro states as he fills Allura in on what happened. “He struck Dr. Galran across the back of head.”

Keith stares off. Angry at himself (and maybe at Shiro). He should’ve been at the house. If he was at the house then maybe, maybe he could’ve stop this.

“Well, where’s Larmina?”

“Dr. Lotor took her back to the hotel,” Keith replies. He really wanted to be there with him. He got a glimpse at how badly Dr. Lotor was beat up over the altercation and wanted to make sure that Larmina was okay.

“She was able to scratch Nicholas Boyle before he ran out the back door. The blood on her hands matches the foreign tissue we pulled from Marissa Schuur’s mouth.”

“You mean he got away?!”

“We’ll catch him one way or another,” Shiro replies in hopes that will reassure Allura.

“He won’t be able to go to a hospital,” Keith looks over his shoulder as Allura leans back against the side of the ambulance. “He knows he’ll be caught if he does.”

Frustrated, Keith climbs out of the ambulance. Shiro stops him and asks where he’s going. “I’m tired, Shiro. I want to go home.”

Dr. Lotor Galran Office - Baltimore, MD

Lotor works quietly at his disk in his pristine office space. He neatly writes down notes in Keith’s patient notebook adding observations and comments. A subtle creek from the balcony above him momentarily stops his pen.  “Hello, Larmina,” Lotor says without looking up from his desk.

“How did you know it was me?”

“The hospital called,” Lotor closes the notebook and sets aside the pen. “You climbed over the wall. Where else were you to go? Home is no longer an option.”

Lotor rises from his desk and walks to the center of the office. He watches Larmina as she walks along the balcony rail and stops a couple feet from the ladder. “Come down from there.”

Larmina pauses before climbing down the ladder. Taking Lotor’s hand for balance, she steps off the last steps of the ladder and onto the floor.  “I don’t want to go to sleep.”

“You can’t anticipate your dreams. Can’t block them. Can’t repress them.” Lotor puts his hands in his pockets as he walks to stand in front of Larmina.

“I didn’t honor any part of him, So it’s just murder, isn’t it?”

“Most would argue self defense.”

Larmina looks up at Lotor in disbelief. “Then...then why not tell the truth?”

“ _Most_ would argue. There would still be those who would say you were taking after your father.”

“Am I?”

“Like your father, you know the unreality of the people who die,” Lotor slowly walks back to his desk. He picks up Keith’s patient notebook and moves to put is back in its rightful place on his shelf. “You understand that they are not flesh, but light and air and color. Quick sounds quickly ended when you change them. You changed Nicholas Boyle like a burst balloon.”

A cold wave of nausea washes over Larmina and she tries to push it down. She doesn’t know what to think. But more importantly, she doesn’t know if she should trust Lotor. “You said I gutted him like a deer.”

“Nicholas Boyle is more important for the gutting,” Lotor replies as he returns to stand in front of Larmina, “more important than the life he clamored after.”

“You’re _glad_ I killed him.”

“What would be the alternative? That he killed you?”

“I didn’t know if he was going to.”

“No, you don’t.”

“You’re the one who called the house..." Larmina takes a small step back, "...You talked to my dad before...what did you say to him?”

“A simple conversation,” Lotor replies. “Ascertaining if he was home for an interview.”

“Keith said that whoever called the house was a serial killer...just like my dad.”

“I am nothing like your dad.” I am better than him. “I made a mistake. Something easily misconstrued. Not unlike yourself. I’ll keep your secret.”

“And I’ll keep yours.”

“No more climbing wall, Larmina.” Lotor smiles before going to call the hospital to tell them that Larmina was safe and would be returning shortly.

Larmina smiles at their agreement. A life long pact. There’s brief moment when she thinks to herself as to if this was the best decision. In the back of her mind there’s a little voice telling her to be careful.

 


End file.
